The Hours After
by Joey51
Summary: Bosco struggles to get through the hours following the shooting in the hotel room. Please R&R. COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

This is my first fic, so please be gentle. I was just playing around. Not sure if I'll continue it or not. Like I said, I'm a rookie. Thanks to all you wonderful TW fic writers that inspired me, I couldn't have done this without you!  
  
Joey  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, zippo, zilch.   
  
The Hours After  
  
I don't know where I am going. I lost track about an hour and a half ago. I can hear someone screaming down the hall. The sounds of pain and pure agony fill my ears and sting my eyes. I need to sit down. I glance around slowly, not letting my gaze lift too far from the floor. I don't see a chair or couch, so I lean my dead-weight body against the wall and slowly slump to the ground. My head finds a semi-comfortable resting spot on my knees, which I have managed to pull into my chest.   
  
How could I have let this happen? How could I have put my own career - my own wants - over the life of the only person in the world that means something to me? I want to be the one fighting for my life, and though it feels that way as I struggle to breathe and remain conscious, I know there is nothing physically wrong with me.   
  
"Sir?"  
  
I contemplate whether or not to answer. Maybe if I just sit here with my eyes closed, they'll leave me alone in my misery.  
  
"Sir? Are you alright? Are you waiting for your wife?" She pauses briefly, concern flees from her voice and is replaced with aggravation from my lack of response, "The waiting room for expectant fathers is just around that corner."  
  
I lift my head and squint my eyes in confusion, focusing on the large woman who is almost standing on top of me, pointing towards a sign on the wall.  
  
"What?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, hoarse from a lack of recent use.  
  
"You are waiting for you wife to give birth aren't you?"  
  
My confusion must be evident because her aggravation has dissipated and she is now talking to me slowly, like I'm foreign or something.  
  
"Um…. No," I respond quietly. "I must be on the wrong floor. Sorry."   
  
Another scream fills the air. It sends a shiver down my spine and sharp pains through my temples. I place my head in my hands, trying to ease the pain that is rippling through my skull. God, make it stop. That horrible sound, it's inexplicable. I can't take anymore pain - not from others, not from myself. I'm on sensory overload. I take a shaky breath and try to regain my bearings.   
  
"Sir, are you alright?" the nurse asks again, this time slightly panicked.   
  
"Yeah…. I just…." my voice trails off as I exhale.   
  
"What floor did you think you were on? Is there somewhere you are supposed to be?"  
  
"No, not really," I answer, pausing briefly as I try to force my brain to form a complete sentence. "What floor am I on?"  
  
"Floor 5, the maternity ward."  
  
I nod, as I remove my hands from my forehead. I brace myself against the wall as I try to maneuver my body into a standing position. I glance over at the nurse, whose eyebrows are raised with worry. 'I must look bad,' I think to myself as I prepare to continue my aimless stroll through Mercy hospital.  
  
I make my way to the elevator. The bright pink doors are shiny enough that I can see my reflection. I have blood smeared across my right cheek. It makes me wonder just what kind of expectant father that nurse thought she was dealing with. A loud DING breaks my trance as the elevator doors separate. I step in amongst a couple other doctors who are having a discussion over a patient's chart.   
  
"What floor?" the male doctor asks with a glance in my direction.  
  
Do I go back down there and face the horror that has become my life? Face all the people that I have disappointed? Face her family. Face Fred, who undoubtedly wants me dead. Hell, he wanted me dead before this disaster. I can't say that I disagree with him now. Or I could go down one more floor, the garage. Walk out unnoticed - unharmed - and save everyone the trouble of having to deal with me. I stare at those two lit letters on the elevator panel. E or G.  
  
"Excuse me, sir? What floor is it you want?" The doctor looks and sounds impatient. If only he knew what a struggle this simple decision is for me. He glances at the other doctor when I fail to respond to his seemingly uncomplicated question.  
  
"Sir," the female doctor takes over, "We are going to the Emergency room, is that where you would like to go too?"   
  
I mentally laugh at her tone. She must think that I'm challenged or something. Go figure, in the last few minutes I have become a mentally challenged expectant father.   
  
"Yeah," I answer. "That's fine."  
  
What the hell, it's now or never, Boscorelli. Suck it up and face the music. You did this, now you can deal with the consequences. You have to bring your cumbersome self out of hiding.   
  
The elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open. The two doctors exit, and before I can even lift my head and begin to walk out into the hallway, I find myself being thrown against the back of the elevator with such force that what little air that was in my lungs is thrust out, making me feel weak and dizzy.  
  
"Get out of my face!" The words are spoken with the pure, raw, emotion of hate. I peel my body off the floor finding myself face to face with Fred.  
  
"You heard me, GET OUT!" His face is red and there is a large throbbing vein in his forehead. I watch it for a couple milliseconds as it pulsates rapidly. He takes my fascination in his hulk-like vein as resistance to comply with his command and reacts by grabbing my coat with both fists, spinning around and literally throwing me out of the elevator. I land on the other side of the hallway and look over to see the elevator doors close in front of him.   
  
That wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be. In a way, I wish he had just pummeled me. Tortured me. Killed me. It would all be a little easier that way. It is certainly justified in my opinion. He did seem angry though… a little too angry to be sad. I think that may be a good thing. God, please don't take her away from me. I realize I have separated myself from this situation because I thought I could delay the inevitable. I thought that if I never had to hear those horrible words, it means it never happened. I have to know now. I need to know. This could be the most devastating day of my life, but I NEED to know.   
  
"Bosco?" I spin my head to the left to see Kim standing a few feet away. Tears stain her cheeks and her eyes are bloodshot.   
  
"No no no…" I mumble as my entire body begins to shake.   
  
"Bosco, where have you been? They took Faith to the OR a few minutes ago. Everyone's looking for you." Relief washes over me as she pauses for a second. I can feel her eyes on me, and I wonder if she is uncomfortable with the situation, or if she is just relieved that I didn't go jump off a bridge. Why the hell else would everyone be looking for me?  
  
"Why don't you get off the floor and come sit with us for a second?"  
  
I sigh in compliance and stumble to my feet without looking at her. I slowly follow her to the waiting room where it appears the whole 5-5 is sitting. I glance around for a chair and notice an empty one next to Davis.   
  
Some conversations stop as I walk past - others pat me on the back. I am oblivious to it all. I just have to sit down before I pass out. At this point, I am not sure if I'll make it.   
  
"Where you been, man? Sully's out in the parking lot looking for you." Davis asks as he removes the coat from the seat next him.  
  
"Sorry, I needed to get out of here. Try to clear my mind," I answer as I lower myself into the uncomfortable plastic chair.  
  
"Did it work?" he asks.  
  
"No," I groan as I rub my eyes with my palms, "can't say it did."  
  
"She's gonna be alright, Bos. You know she's gonna be okay."  
  
"God I hope you're right, Davis," I sigh.  
  
"Bosco, this is not your fault."  
  
Those words cut me like a knife. It IS my fault. She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me. No one else did this but ME. Tears begin to sting my eyes and flow freely down my hands that are covering my face. I feel Davis squeeze my shoulder in support. God it hurts so much. This is my worst nightmare come true. Why did this have to happen? I feel my stomach turn with each thought that flows through my spinning head.   
  
"Everyone here for Officer Yokas, can head on up to the waiting room in the OR," Proctor's voice interrupts my thoughts. I hear movement all around me and Davis squeezes my shoulder again, "Common, Bos, let's go up there."  
  
I raise my head and swipe at the tears on my cheeks. I support myself with my hands on my knees as I move to get up and follow the crowd to the next stage of this nightmare. As I move to follow Davis my vision becomes spotted and I grab onto the chair for support.  
  
"Whoa!," Davis says as he reaches out and grabs my arm, preventing me from crashing into the row of chairs directly in front of me. "You okay?"  
  
I nod, rub my eyes, and proceed to walk towards the elevator. Davis is looking at me like I'm the one that got shot. I wish he'd stop it, or shoot me himself so that it would be justified. Who am I kidding, Davis doesn't have the guts to shoot anyone, let alone me. He's probably too afraid I'd kick his ass.   
  
Again I feel nauseous and dizzy and this time, there is no chair to lean on, and Davis can't react fast enough to catch me. I crash to the ground and hear the sickening crack of my head hitting the hard floor.   
  
I sense the sudden commotion all around me. Before I slip away I see Faith standing before me, her vision is so pure. No blood, no trauma, just the Faith I have grown to love. It gives me a ray of hope. "Take me instead of her," I think to myself. The last thing I remember is someone screaming for a doctor…. I just wish they'd let me die. I really don't deserve to live.   
  
TBC? I don't know guys, I was just playing. I don't think that this is my calling but everyone else is doing it!! Let me know what you think. 


	2. Chapter 2

Thank-you guys, for your awesome, kind reviews. I didn't really expect that reaction at all. It's quite the pleasant surprise. Here's the second chapter. That's right, you convinced me! I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think. Tell me if you think I should continue or not.  
  
Thanks,  
  
Joey   
  
Disclaimer: Again, I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-   
  
Chapter Two  
  
I can hear voices but they sound more like echoes. It's like they're in a quiet, empty hallway, very far away. I struggle to comprehend what they are saying, but I can only make out fragments of the conversation. I definitely recognize one of the voices.   
  
"God, when it rains it pours. He makes it five on the day."  
  
Swersky. That's definitely Swersky. What the hell is Swersky doing in my apartment? I attempt to open my eyes. I can't remember ever feeling this tired. My body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds and my eye lids feel like they're glued shut. I attempt to roll onto my side but I am stopped by a cold metal bar. As a high pitched, piercing sound fills the air, it hits me. I suddenly remember where I am. I open my eyes a little bit, letting in some of the blinding bright light that surrounds me.   
  
"Megan, fix the officer's IV please. It appears he has dislodged it."  
  
A young nurse enters my line of vision, a sad expression on her face, "Officer, I'm just going to roll you over on your back, okay?"  
  
I attempt to find my voice, "Can you please stop that noise?" It comes out raspy because my mouth is so dry. I close my eyes and swallow.  
  
The nurse flips a switch, seizing the shrill screeching and proceeds to reattach my IV that I must have ripped out when I attempted to roll over.   
  
Faith. I wonder how Faith is. How long have I been out of it? I open my eyes again and lift my head up slightly to scan the room for Lieutenant Swersky. I make it halfway across the room before my head begins to throb. Wincing, I drop back down onto the pillow. I groan and raise my free arm up over my forehead.   
  
"Take it easy Officer, you had quite a little fall out there."  
  
I turn towards the perky nurse, and again, pry my weary eyes open, "How long?"  
  
"How long what, Sir? How long were you unconscious?"  
  
I nod and close my eyes again. The throbbing is continually building. I figure it won't be long until my head implodes.   
  
"You've only been out for about twenty-five minutes. I'll get a doctor to come talk to you."  
  
"Swersky." For some reason, full sentences aren't an option right now.  
  
"Swersky?" the nurse asks confused. "Is he the Officer that was just in here?"  
  
I slowly nod again.  
  
"Did you want to talk to him? I can see if I can find him if you'd like."  
  
"Thanks, " I reply again dryly. The pressure in my head is building Just when I think it can't get any worse, it gets stronger and stronger, like when someone is blowing up a balloon. I feel my stomach turning and wonder if I'll be able to fight off the sudden nausea that is ripping through my shaky body.   
  
"Bosco?" I don't even open my eyes to acknowledge him. I don't want to move. If it were any other time, under any other circumstance, I don't think I would have found the strength to talk in my condition, but right now, I need to know. I need to know about Faith.   
  
"Lieu, how's Faith?"  
  
"I don't know Bosco, she's still in surgery. I'm about to head up there myself," he sighs, obviously distraught over the day's events. "If I hear anything, I'll be sure to let you know."  
  
He pauses and for a second I think that he's either left, or I've passed out. I can't be bothered to open my eyes to check. I can feel the thin film of sweat forming on my face and neck.   
  
"You don't look so good Bosco. Do you want me to get a doctor?"  
  
"No…. No Lieu," I swallow again and manage to open my eyes a crack. "I want to come upstairs with you."  
  
"I don't think that's the best idea right now, Bosco. You stay here, let the doctors take a look at you and I promise, the second I hear anything, you'll be the first to know."  
  
I'm disappointed, but I can't say that I disagree with him too much. The thought of keeping my eyes open is exhausting , let alone getting up. I nod my agreement to Swersky, and I feel him pat my arm before he leaves the room. How can he be this nice to me? I might have gotten one of his finest officers killed. If my head wasn't so sore, I'd want him to yell at me, tell me what a failure I am, say what everyone else is thinking. This cannot be the day we lose Faith. The mere thought of her not making it sends a sharp pain through my chest. It can't happen. It's as simple as that. I can't let it happen. Not to me, not to her family, not even to Fred. We all need her. God, I need her now.   
  
"Officer?"   
  
I'm separated from my thoughts at the sound of a man's voice. I turn slightly towards him and try once again to open my eyes.  
  
"I'm Doctor Reves. How are you feeling?"  
  
How am I feeling? Is he for real? This has just been the worst day of my life. I feel great Doc, thanks for asking. As much as I would like to shoot my mouth off to this guy, all I can manage is a quiet, "Super."  
  
The doctor tilts his head and continues, ignoring my sarcastic remark, "You did quite the number on your head. Now that you're awake, I'd like to send you off to get a CT scan so we can rule out any bleeding."  
  
He places the chart back on the table and lowers his voice slightly, "Have you been eating regularly or had any illness lately?"   
  
The question baffles me somewhat, "What?"  
  
"I'm just trying to figure out what caused you to collapse like that. You were dehydrated, and we've been pumping fluids into you, but that shouldn't have caused you to lose consciousness like that. If you haven't been eating like you would normally, or your sleeping habits have changed, or you've been sick, combined with the stress of the day, it might explain what happened out there. I'm just trying to rule out anything more serious, that's all."   
  
"I…. I don't know Doc…. It's just…," I'm not sure exactly what to tell him. My life has completely fallen apart, could that explain it, Doc?   
  
"It's just what, officer?"  
  
"It's been a long week." There, that should satisfy him. I close my eyes again as another wave of pain shoots through my skull. I wish he'd just give me something for the pain and let me go up to the OR to wait with the others.   
  
"I'd like to draw some blood before we send you to get that scan, just to be on the safe side. How's your head? It took a good 12 stitches to close that wound."  
  
Well that explains a lot. I can feel the bandage above my left temple. I've been whacked over the head a few times in my day, but it's never hurt like this.   
  
"Hurts."   
  
"We'll see if we can get you something for that to make you a little more comfortable and I'll send a nurse in to draw some blood." With that, he walks out, but is quickly replaced by Proctor, vials in hand. "Great," I think to myself. This just keeps getting better and better.  
  
She's surprisingly gentle as she administers more drugs through my IV and begins to draw blood from my arm. I continue to keep my eyes closed and try to ignore her presence. It's bad enough that Proctor's poking and prodding at me, but now I have to get stuck with needles. All I want to do is get out of this room and be there for Faith.   
  
"I'll send these to the lab and then take you to get that CT."  
  
*******  
  
I hear Kim's voice as I am being wheeled through the hall on the way to have my head scanned , "I can't believe it," her voice is muffled by sobs. "How could all of this have happened? I can't believe she's gone…"   
  
I think my heart has stopped.…. My eyes shoot open and I use my elbows to prop myself up. Carlos is standing beside her, looking awkward and uncomfortable.  
  
Proctor stops suddenly, "Bosco, you should really lie down."  
  
I feel the blood draining from my face. I didn't want to find out this way. Why didn't Swersky come tell me, that bastard promised. I can't breathe and my arms start to tremble beneath the weight of my upper body.  
  
"Kim," I gasp. She spins around to face me, her face red from crying. She sniffles before she replies.   
  
"Bosco," she sounds slightly surprised to see me. "I didn't get to tell you last time. I mean, I didn't know Bosco. I'm sorry, I didn't know….. He was so nice to me, I didn't know…" she barely gets the last words out before she bursts into tears again. What was she talking about? Who is 'he'? I must look extremely lost because she proceeds to explain.  
  
"Aaron Noble," she says shakily, raising her voice slightly at the end making it sound more like a question, "I just found out that what happened to Faith…. I mean, how it all happened in his hotel room."  
  
II lower myself back onto the gurney before my arms give out. My head is starting to swim but I need to know what is going on before I pass out.   
  
"What about him?" I ask, still facing in her direction.  
  
"I… I thought you knew? We were… seeing each other," her voice is hushed as she tries to read the expression on my face.  
  
"You?" I ask incredulously. "You and Noble? You kidding me?"  
  
Things are going spotty again. Oh God, this is not good. I think I'm going to throw up. I grip onto the railing tightly as I try to fight the overwhelming pain and nausea.  
  
"I thought you knew, " she says again, as she wipes her cheeks with her sleeve.  
  
I lick my lips and try to suppress the horrible waves of nausea, "You're crying over Noble?" My voice is low and the surprise is evident.  
  
"No… well, no, not really," she sniffles again. "I guess I'm crying about everything. Alex, what happened to Faith, everything…." the tears continue to stream down her face.  
  
Alex? What about Alex? No one ever said anything to me about Alex.  
  
"Taylor?" I whisper.  
  
Kim nods.   
  
I'm fading quickly, and I don't know if I will be able to get all my questions answered before I'm out again, so I ask the really important one. The one I need to know.  
  
"So Faith's not…." I can't even say the word, everything's aching so badly now, I'm rapidly losing focus.   
  
Kim shakes her head. "She's still in surgery. I mean… I don't know, I haven't heard."  
  
At those words, my heart starts beating again and I am able to take somewhat of a deep breath. Things are going blurry, and all I can feel now is the beating in my head. As much as it hurts, in a strange way, it's comforting. She's okay, she's going to make it, I'm sure of it. That's just the way it has to be. There are a thousand other questions I'd like to ask, but I can feel myself fading out again. I guess Lieu was right, when it rains it pours.   
  
The gurney is moving again and I can hear Proctor calling for someone. Everything's starting to slip away, and again, I see Faith.  
  
TBC?  
  
Please let me know what you think. I really appreciate feedback! 


	3. Chapter 3

Thank-you to everyone that reviewed. You guys make it so much easier for me to keep going. Here's the third chapter for all of you wonderful TW fans. It may not explain a whole lot, but I know exactly where I am going so please be patient. It's just hard to relate the whole story through one character's POV but I promise, it will all come together in the end. Another note, I do not plan on following the new season through this story, however, I may steal something if I like it and it fits in!   
  
Special thanks go out to Sarah, whose editing makes my life so much easier!   
  
Enjoy, and if you like it, please review to let me know. It will only encourage me to write the next chapter faster. Thanks again,  
  
Joey  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.  
  
-The Hours After-   
  
Chapter 3   
  
"The Officer's CT scan results are back. There were no signs of epidural or subdural hematoma, but there is a mild cerebral contusion. Do you want me to send for an additional MRI and a neuro consult ?"   
  
"No, that's fine, Megan. We'll just keep a close eye on him for the next few hours. If he's still non-coherent, I'll have neurology run some more specific tests."   
  
Hmmm…. Damn Doc, do you have to talk so damn loud? I can't complain too much though, they must have really upped the painkillers because the lightning that was shooting through my skull earlier has diminished, replaced by a dull throb. I do an inventory of my other body parts. The aching I experienced earlier is still there, but less intense. My arms and legs feel as though they are asleep, it's almost as if I've gone completely numb.   
  
"What about his blood cultures? Have they come back yet?"   
  
"Yeah, they were sent down about 5 minutes ago. It showed nothing drastic, but I'll let you have a look at it. His white blood cell count is a little low and his electrolytes are all out of whack, but he was dehydrated. I can draw another sample in an hour or so if you'd like to check up on that."   
  
"No, no. We've been pumping enough fluids into him that it should take care of itself. Just let me know if his temperature gets any higher. What's he at right now?"   
  
"100.9"   
  
"Yeah…. As long as it stays low grade I'm not going to panic. He's been through a lot. Has there been any news about his partner with the GSW?"   
  
"I haven't heard, but two officers came down here about 10 minutes ago to talk to him, saw that he was asleep, and left. I don't know if they just came to check on him or if they had any news"   
  
That's it. I've got to open my eyes. If there is something to know, I need to know it. This shouldn't be so hard. I feel as if there are a thousand doors that I have to open before I can see the world outside. As my internal struggle continues, through my eyelids I notice a change in light, and hear the click of a door closing.   
  
Damn, they've left. Get back here, I need to know. I need to know about Faith. I try tilting my head to the side. The movement is effective and seems to break the ice enough that I am able to crack my eyes open. The room is dark, and all I can see are the bright green lights filtering out from the monitor beside my bed. As my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, I am able to make out the subtle forms of the objects in my room. I clear my throat and swallow in an attempt to regain my voice. I need to let them know I'm awake so I can find out about Faith.   
  
I attempt to pull myself forward by gripping onto the bars on either side of the bed. I'll need to be upright if they have any chance of hearing me. I can see a shadow moving through the crack of light under the door.   
  
"Nurse!" I call out, but my voice cracks in the middle causing me to cough several times. The shadow evanesces and it appears as though she doesn't hear me. The exertion causes the pounding in my head to resume, and again, I'm left nauseous. I drop my chin down towards my chest and close my eyes, breathing as deeply as possible, waiting for the feeling to pass. When I'm sure the worst is over, I lift my head and wrack my sore brain for another solution.   
  
The call button. Where the hell do they keep those things? I've heard people refer to them before but I've never stayed in a hospital long enough to actually get to use one. I run my right hand across the bedside bar. I am rewarded when I feel the small, protruding, plastic button. Should I press it? What if it's not what I think is? What if I trigger some sort of fire alarm? God knows I don't need the bucket boys rushing into my room right now.   
  
Alex. My mind retreats to the brief conversation I had with Kim. Maybe she's just hurt. I saw her today though. She was at that crash. I know I'm being naive to believe that it could be anything less than death. I saw Kim's eyes. I've seen that expression before. That is the expression of pure sorrow, anguish, despair... death. I can feel the weight of dread pressing on my chest from the mere thought of that word. There's far too much death in my chosen line of work. You see more people die than you can even begin to help. I can't lose her, I can't feel that horrid feeling of deprivation. My body shudders, breaking my chain of thoughts, dragging me back to reality.   
  
I'm shaking violently now, my breaths becoming shorter with each agonizing second. No. I can't fall back into that separated world I've been drifting in and out of. I know my strength is quickly fading and my minutes of coherent consciousness are limited. I press my finger into the call button and wait. I concentrate on breathing slowly, and try to maintain the mental function necessary to ask the one question that I can't rest until I know the answer to. After a small eternity, my light comes on and I am approached by a nurse that I don't recognize.   
  
"You called, Mr. Boscorelli?"   
  
I nearly burst when asking the question - I can't waste time making small talk, "My partner? How's my partner?"   
  
I don't even recognize my own voice as it cracks at the end of every word.   
  
"Your partner?" she asks, and it's obvious that she has not been debriefed on my situation.   
  
"I'll see if I can find him. What's his name?"   
  
"Yokas. Her name is Fa…" I run out of breath and swallow again, suppressing all the pain and uneasiness that is searing though my body, "Faith Yokas."   
  
"Faith Yokas? Okay, I'll go check on her for you. You're going to have to lie down though," she makes a move towards me, but before she can gently lower me back onto the gurney, my muscles spasm, causing my upper body to slam hard into the metal bar that I am gripping. She dives, catching me before I flip over the side and onto the floor. I have lost all physical control over my body, but I am determined to remain conscious until I know that Faith is alright. I figure I can stay awake as long as I don't physically exert myself, and seeing as how that isn't even an option right now, my chances are good.   
  
"Mr. Boscorelli, are you still with me? Do you feel any weakness or numbness?"   
  
No, I feel strong as on ox, that's why I just clothes-lined myself on my gurney. Jesus, some of the people in this hospital are slow. No wonder she's on the night shift.   
  
"My partner.... please..." I'm pleading with her now.   
  
As she's rushing out the door she calls out to me, "I'm going to get a doctor and then I'll check on your partner for you, okay?"   
  
Who cares about me! Go find out about Faith. This should not be such a challenge. The door swings open and Dr. Reeves rushes towards me, stethoscope in hand.   
  
"Officer Boscorelli, are you experiencing any difficulty breathing?"   
  
He's now pressing the cold stethoscope onto my chest, causing another violent tremor to wrack my body. I try to respond, but I can't talk. The searing pain is causing a ringing in my ears and I find myself too exhausted to form words.   
  
"Can you feel your legs and arms?" he's speaking louder, assuming I just couldn't hear him the last time. I read you loud and clear, Doc, but don't expect an answer anytime soon.   
  
"Temp's 101.6, BP's low at 80/50," a female voice yells out.   
  
I glance around the room and realize I am completely surrounded by medical personnel. Doctor Reeves is barking out orders that I can't make out through my pain-ridden haze. My eyes are fixed on the doorway, waiting for the nurse who's supposed to be checking on Faith. I can feel people poking at my throat and pressing on my chest, but I ignore them and keep my focus straight ahead, waiting for my answer. Seconds later, Lieutenant Swersky casually strolls into my room, then slams to a halt when he notices all the activity that is surrounding me.   
  
"What's going on? Is he okay?"   
  
Swersky is frantically shooting his gaze between the doctors and nurses, searching for an explanation.   
  
"We don't know yet, Sir. You're going to have to wait outside," Dr. Reeves calls out, not removing his gaze from whatever he is doing to my chest.   
  
A nurse approaches Swersky, gently pushing him backwards through the door in which he had just entered.   
  
NO! I just want one thing, one GOD DAMNED THING from these people and NO ONE will give it to me. I try to gather any last resources of energy I have to yell out to Swersky, "No! Faith..." My attempt is failed and I start to convulse with violent coughs. I can't breathe. The coughing is involuntary and sends spasms of pain through my chest and head. I really can't breathe and I feel like I'm drowning, each ragged breath pulling less and less oxygen into my burning lungs.   
  
Before the door that separates myself from Lieutenant Swersky drifts shut, he yells out to me, "She'll be alright, Bosco. She'll be alright."   
  
Despite the cruel, burning sensation that has enveloped me, I feel a wave of satisfying comfort. That's all I needed to know, that's all I ever wanted.   
  
Everyone's yelling now, but all I can hear is the sweet repetition of Swersky's last words. I think I'm smiling; and through my foggy gaze, I see Dr. Reeves diving to tear off the oxygen mask that had been placed over my mouth and nose. The perky nurse from earlier is suddenly all business as she roughly grabs my arm and flips me on my stomach so I don't choke on my own vomit. I actually don't care about the violent, heaving, convulsions. I don't care about the lightning in my head or the burning in my chest. I don't care that I feel like I am drowning. All I can hear are those three beautiful words, "She'll be alright."   
  
TBC. Let me know what you think! 


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to all of you who are still reading (I don't think there are too many of you but I thank you for your loyalty!). Don't worry, be patient, you'll find out what's going on soon. There's still a few more twists and turns yet! Enjoy this chapter and let me know what you're thinking!  
  
Thanks,  
  
Joey  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 4  
  
A spin cycle. I am stuck in a spin cycle. When I left Faith, when I was with Cruz, and even now in this room, everything's always spinning. The activity has died down, but I still feel like I am physically and mentally spiraling out of control.  
  
I know something's wrong with me, and I know that it's a lot worse than they originally thought. I can tell by the way they look at me. They make more prolonged eye contact when they feel sorry for you, like their pity will make you feel better. I am so hopped up on drugs right now that speech is impossible. I can't ask them what's going on, and I am sure as hell that they would have at least made an effort to tell me if they knew for themselves. That only means one thing: they don't know.  
  
I am awake, aware, but not all there. It's like I'm drunk, or more comparably, hungover. I can hear what they are saying, but I'm not really listening. Doctors have been running in and out of my room, comparing notes on my condition. They ask me how I'm doing, but know they won't get a response. I blink in reply, which they assume means 'okay'. Every five minutes or so, a nurse comes by, checks my oxygen, injects something into my IV, jots some stuff down on my chart, then leaves again.  
  
The pattern becomes mesmerizing, like watching a machine that is doing the same repetitive application over and over again. Since I have nothing better to do, I watch them intently with half-opened eyes.  
  
"Hey, Bosco, how ya doing?" I glance to my right. Lieutenant Swersky is slowly approaching my bed.  
  
I give my automated response, and resume eye contact.  
  
"Bosco, Faith's going to be just fine. The doctors said that she might be unconscious for a while, but they expect her to make a full recovery."  
  
Suddenly, he has my full attention. My eyes widen slightly, begging him to continue.   
  
"She's out of the woods, Bosco. She's going to be okay."  
  
Thank-you, God. I really don't think I could ever forgive myself if something were to happen to her. At least I know she's okay, she's alive.  
  
I cough weakly. Despite the slew of drugs they've got me on, I still feel as though I'm struggling to keep my head above water level.   
  
"There's something else, Bosco." He reaches back and grabs the stool beside my bed and lowers himself down with a sigh.  
  
Is he going to tell me I'm dying? Did the doctors send my boss in to do their dirty work?  
  
"Cruz is awake. Her injuries are minor, she just has a nasty concussion."  
  
I don't give a shit about Cruz. As far as I'm concerned, she can rot in hell. A thousand different thoughts are running through my already spinning head. He's talking slowly, and I know that whatever he is procrastinating telling me is going to be huge. Get to the point, Boss.  
  
"The detectives came to talk to her, Bosco… She told them that you and her were about to get some information out of a CI, and when you entered his hotel room, Yokas was there. She claims Faith appeared to have some sort of connection with the CI and immediately went on the defensive, threatening to shoot her when she asked her what she was doing there," Swersky takes a deep breath and runs his hand over his face.  
  
"She says that Faith shot first, she shot second, and she assumed that your CI was about to shoot her, resulting in you shooting him… I don't know, Bosco," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I mean, Yokas told me she was taking her meal period and next thing I know, she's in a CI's hotel room? I don't know why she would lie to me like that. I never thought Faith would…" he trails off, pauses, and then regains his train of thought.   
  
"They aren't going to run on anything Cruz says until they get the statements from both you and Faith. I really don't want to believe her, Bosco, but until I hear otherwise, I can't not believe her."  
  
I'm sure that if I could speak, I'd be speechless anyway. That little bitch. Does she really think she's going to get away with this? That manipulative, self-serving, BITCH! I don't care what rank she is, there's no way they can take her word over Faith's. I'd love to set the record straight right now, but I can barely breathe, let alone talk. I would even write them my statement if my arms and legs weren't varying between states of shakiness and numbness.   
  
"The two detectives said that they stopped by your room last night but you were asleep. Bosco, I need you to get better…" his eyes glisten, but I know that he's not crying over me. In the span of 12 or so hours, his whole damn precinct has fallen apart. I steal a glance at the clock on the wall. 7:30 am. I bet he hasn't slept all night.   
  
When Swersky manages to regain control of his emotions, he continues, "I can't lose my two best officers. We'll get to the bottom of this. We're going to get this all worked out and you and Faith are going to get better."   
  
I laugh to myself. I bet he can barely convince himself of what he just said because I sure as hell don't believe it.   
  
"Officer Boscorelli?"  
  
Both Swersky and myself shift our eyes to the two men in suits that are holding their badges in front of them, as if the etched metal gives them permission to interrupt any conversation.  
  
"We're from the FBI. We were wondering if you could tell us what happened last night?"  
  
Yeah sure, just a second, let me just clear my throat. Why didn't they come earlier, when everything wasn't spinning and I could form words?  
  
"This probably isn't the best time, gentlemen. Can I talk to you outside?"  
  
"In a minute, Sir. We just wanted to have a few words with Officer Boscorelli."  
  
Swersky stands up and raises his voice slightly, emphasizing his point, "I don't think you are going to get a single word out of him right now. OUTSIDE PLEASE!"   
  
Lieu is ushering the two agents out into the hall, and though I can't hear what he is saying to them through my door, his animated movements show that he is not inviting them to the company picnic.   
  
Dr. Reeves enters, blocking my view of Swersky giving the FBI agents a piece of his mind.   
  
"Officer Boscorelli, how are you feeling?"  
  
Why do they even bother asking?  
  
"This is Dr. White. He's a neurologist here and he's going to examine you a little further, maybe run some more tests on you so we can figure out what's going on, okay?"  
  
Until now, I hadn't even noticed the other doctor standing to my left. He's already coming at me with a penlight. He sure doesn't waste any time.  
  
"Can you follow my finger please?"  
  
I try my best to follow his finger, but moving my eyes from side to side, even in such slow motion, makes me dizzy and sick. I close my eyes and try to take a deep breath, which results in more coughing. Here we go again, I can't breathe. The water level is rising and I can no longer keep myself from going under. I open my eyes again and the spinning intensifies. I catch a glimpse of Swersky and the FBI agents who have stopped arguing and are now staring at me through the glass.   
  
"Take small breaths, officer."  
  
Thanks, I'll work on that. The numbers around me are growing. This Dr. White fellow is joining Dr. Reeves in barking out the orders. He's saying something about another scan, but I can't make out what exactly. Again, I see Swersky, the agents are walking away but he is staring back at me with a worried expression on his face.  
  
I don't think I'm breathing at all anymore. My lungs have gone from burning to on fire. I can hear myself gasping and coughing, but I'm not consciously doing anything.   
  
"We're going to have to tube him."  
  
Dr. Reeves roughly throws my head back and starts shoving a plastic tube down my throat. I'm gagging on the cold plastic, but he doesn't stop. I wish I would just pass out. The tube was inserted so forcefully, it's torn apart my throat and I can taste the blood in my mouth. It's a small price to pay for the sweet relief of oxygen.  
  
"Bag him. Let's get him up to the ICU and put him on a ventilator ASAP."  
  
Before he even finishes his sentence, I am being wheeled out of the room. Swersky follows me with his gaze as I am pushed by. His face is an almost gray complexion.   
  
  
  
The elevator doors slide open and Davis and Sully stroll out.   
  
"Oh my god, Bosco!" Davis calls out when he sees me on the gurney.  
  
"Sir, you're going to have to move," Dr. Reeves says as he pushes Davis out of the way while wheeling me into the elevator.   
  
"BP's dropping!" a nurse yells out as the doors slide shut.  
  
Dr Reeves throws his glance to the neurologist, "You think he's bleeding out?"   
  
I feel a jerk as we start to move upwards.  
  
"That wouldn't explain the fever and respiratory distress. I don't know what the hell is going on."  
  
Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys. No too comforting when the two doctors that are in charge of your life, and I quote, "don't know what the hell is going on".   
  
The rhythmic pumping of the bag that is my air source is the sole sound in the elevator for several seconds. I can't believe this. I can't believe that at a time when all I want to do is be there for my partner, I'm immobilized in pain.   
  
Pain. Yeah, now I feel the pain. I don't know if my meds are just wearing off or if it has gotten worse, but I am definitely in a lot more pain now than I was earlier. That severe aching feeling is back. My arms and legs are shaking again, and my stomach feels as though it's inside out. Then there is my head. That lightning… striking hard every few seconds causing me to wince in agony. Please, someone make this stop.  
  
The elevator comes to a halt and I am rushed through an unfamiliar hall.   
  
"We need a vent here!" Dr. Reeves yells out to no one in particular.   
  
"Right this way," a female doctor responds, waving us into a large room at the end of the hall.  
  
"What the hell is going on here?!"  
  
I definitely know that voice. It's always angry, negative, and discouraging. Fred.  
  
The doctors ignore him and keep pushing past. Through my half opened eyes, I see his face as we pass. He almost looks concerned. He probably thinks it's something he did when he whipped me out of the elevator 12 hours ago, worried about going to jail or something for attempted murder. Wouldn't surprise me - Fred's always been selfish. But really, who am I to talk… Well, I got news for you, Fred, it takes a lot more than that to bring down a Boscorelli. Then again, I have no idea what is bringing me down.   
  
I'm starting to feel separated, like I'm desensitizing from the world around me.   
  
"Run another culture. We're missing something important here," I can tell Dr. Reeves is getting frustrated with me. Join the club, buddy.   
  
The bag is separated from the tube in my mouth and immediately replaced by a machine that is functioning for my weakened lungs. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to hold on. My body is floating and I'm just too tired. I wish… oh, God, I wish I could just talk for 2 minutes. Set the record straight, save Faith from Cruz's viscous accusations.  
  
If only I had the strength.   
  
Please Faith, wake up soon. Save your honor… I just can't this time.   
  
TBC. Please let me know what you're thinking! 


	5. Chapter 5

Hello to all my faithful readers! This chapter should answer at least one big question, but don't get comfortable, there's an interesting turn of events on the way ;) Thanks to everyone for your encouraging words. Some made me laugh pretty hard. For example, Fyre's request to have Cruz die from a freak infection LOL! So please keep on reviewing, it keeps me going. And really, thanks for all your wonderfully supportive comments.   
  
Joey  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 5  
  
"I DO NOT want HIM in here! Not anywhere near me, my wife, or my kids!"  
  
"Well, I'm sorry sir, but he needs to be here in the ICU just as much as your wife does."  
  
"He's the reason she's in here in the first place!"  
  
"Mr. Yokas, you're going to have to take a deep breath and calm down, or I'm going to have to ask you to leave."  
  
Fred. Now there's something I never want to wake up to again. I don't know how Faith does it. She thinks I overreact? The guy is like one big, bald, nuclear time-bomb. I fear that if I open my eyes, he'll be the first thing that will come into focus and I'll have nightmares about his ugly mug for weeks.   
  
"Can he at least go to the other end? I don't want my wife waking up and seeing him."  
  
"Here." I can hear a curtain being whipped across a rod. "It's the closest thing I can give you to a private room right now.  
  
I can hear Fred chuckle slightly and mumble, "Great, just great."  
  
Faith. She must be close to me. I have to see her for myself, just to make sure she's okay. I just want to tell her how sorry I am. Tell her how much she means to me and that I would never intentionally do anything to hurt her.   
  
I feel something or someone brush against my arm. I want to ask them what's going on - why am I here? I try to swallow, but the action causes me to gag as I am suddenly reminded of the tube that is in my throat.   
  
"Officer Boscorelli, just relax, there's a tube down your throat that's hooked up to a machine that is breathing for you. Try not to fight it."  
  
I open my eyes a crack and am met by the gaze of an elderly nurse. She cups her fingers around mine.   
  
"I want you to try to squeeze my hand."  
  
Normally, I would make some crack about her trying to hit on me, but it's not really the time or place.  
  
I try to send the signal to my right hand, but I'm not sure if it's actually doing anything.  
  
"Good. Okay, now I want you to squeeze my hand once if you're in pain and twice if you're not."  
  
Pain… hmm, I guess I have to think about that one. I remember being in a lot of pain, but I don't think that's the word I would use to describe what I'm feeling right now. Uncomfortable is more like it. It feels like I have been lying on a cement floor in an awkward position for a very long time.   
  
I send the signal for two squeezes and look at her face to see if she has actually received it.  
  
"Okay. I'm going be asking you that a lot, so remember our little code." She winks at me and fiddles with my IV.  
  
There are two other doctors standing to my right, talking quietly and looking over what I assume is my chart. One looks as though he's 12, and I wonder if he's here on some sort of 'take your child to work' day. I quickly reassess my opinion when he presses his stethoscope into my ribs and starts tapping on my sternum with his index finger. He turns back to the elder doctor and they share a few more, very quiet words.   
  
"Officer," the younger one has turned around to address me in a subdued voice, "we ran another scan of your brain and there doesn't appear to be any further damage. It appears as though you are suffering from the post effects of a concussion in addition to something else." He pauses, looks back to the other doctor, who is old enough to be little Doogie's father, and continues. "We are currently running some more tests on your blood to see if there is anything that can tip us off as to what is ailing you. I want you to think back over the past couple weeks. Did you come into contact with anything suspicious, or any other person that was extremely ill? I know that you can only give us yes or no answers, but if you do recall something, we can at least try to guess and you can confirm or deny."  
  
Anything suspicious? My whole life is one big suspicious operation. I deal with the biggest jag-offs out there, and as far as I'm concerned, everyone has the potential to be a suspicious creep.   
  
"If anything is coming to mind, I want you to squeeze Nurse Carson's hand."  
  
I don't know. I think it's suspicious that you're apparently old enough to be my doctor, but besides that, nothing is coming to mind.   
  
Little Doogie glances over to the nurse who is holding my hand. She shakes her head 'no'.   
  
"Dr. Grander?" I guess little Doogie has a name after all. A nurse is approaching him with a piece of paper, "Mr. Boscorelli's labs are back."  
  
Dr. Grander examines the paper for what seems like an eternity. Before he can address me, there is a soft knock on the door. I can't see who is because, well, I can't lift my head, but the visitor receives smiles and nods from the two doctors and Nurse Carson.   
  
"Hey, Bosco." Ty has moved into my line of limited vision. "How ya doin', man?"  
  
At some point, that question has become just plain aggravating. He's talking quietly like the doctors were. Either they all think I'll break if they talk too loud, or there are other patients in this room that are sleeping - I'm going to guess the latter.   
  
"The repeat lab tests have revealed a continual drop in his platelet count and an elevated hematocrit and a left-shift leukocytosis."  
  
The doctors make eye-contact, and Dr. Grander turns towards Ty, "Do you know Officer Boscorelli well?"  
  
Davis raises his eyebrows and nods, "Yeah, I mean, we work together at the 55th precinct."  
  
"What kind of conditions has Officer Boscorelli been working in? Are they sanitary?"  
  
Ty laughs slightly and shakes his head, "As far as I know, he's been busting up meth labs and crack houses. I'm under the impression that those people aren't too concerned about the sterility of their living conditions. Why, you think that's what's making him sick?"  
  
"It's hard to say, I don't want to make any judgments just yet, but what you said is supporting my hunch. June," he turns to face Nurse Carson, "I'm going to send out for a serum test on Officer Boscorelli, can you get the lab on the phone for me? I'm going to have to have a few words with them so they can run some specific tests."  
  
"Absolutely," she replies as she gently places my hand back on the gurney.  
  
He turns back to Davis, whose eyes are wide with confusion.   
  
"Like I said," Dr. Grander repeats, "it's just a hunch."  
  
"I think you're onto something here," the elderly doctor speaks up, "I think they would have caught it earlier too if that concussion he sustained hadn't thrown them so far off track."  
  
"I'm not going to jump to conclusions, but it seems so obvious now."  
  
I am so lost. As far as I'm concerned, they could be talking in German and I would have the same level of comprehension. I feel like I'm a guinea pig in some sort of medical guessing game. However, the older doc did say that Doogie might be onto something. I glance over to Davis who has backed up so he can see what lies on the other side of that privacy curtain that's acting as Fred's protective wall from the evil force of 'Bosco'.   
  
"How's she doing?" I'm assuming he's talking to Fred.   
  
"She could be better, but I don't know - the doctors say she'll be fine. It's just a waiting game now, until she wakes up."  
  
Fred sounds a lot more submissive than he did earlier. Maybe he's a nice guy around everyone else but me. Wouldn't surprise me too much, I guess.  
  
I can feel myself beginning to slip again. For a while I was in that 'uncomfortable' stage, but the burning is continually building in my chest and searing through my temples. The tube has left my mouth dry and there is nothing that I would like more than a glass of water. Anything cold to help soothe my mangled throat.   
  
"I've got the lab on the phone for you, Dr. Grander," Nurse Carson calls out as she's walking by the door.  
  
"Thanks," he says as he places my chart on my gurney and strolls out, directly followed by the older doc.  
  
I wish Fred would leave so Davis could let me see Faith. I just want to see her with my own eyes- prove to myself she's okay. Davis walks over and sits on the stool beside my bed.  
  
"She looks good, Bos," he's whispering so Fred can't hear us. I blink in appreciation of the update. I guess that Davis has always had a slight understanding of what I'm thinking. A big step up on a lot of the others, especially Sully.   
  
I've gone from tired to exhausted. I've begun to lose track of how long or often I sleep. It feels like a year has passed since that horrible scene took place, but I we have yet to reach the 24 hour mark. The rhythmic pumping of air that has become my life source is like the ticking of a watch, counting the seconds until I fall back into that world of darkness. I don't want to sleep, I want to wait like everyone else. And as horrible as I feel, I realize that if I wasn't in such rough shape, I wouldn't be allowed anywhere near Faith. Then again, I would be able to speak and give a statement that could possibly prevent her from being considered a temporary criminal. Sleep will have to wait. I'll try my damned hardest to stay awake until I hear her voice. Until I know she can save herself.  
  
The little doc is reproaching my side, ignoring me as he jots some information onto my chart from the monitor at my bedside.   
  
"Dr. Grander," Nurse Carson announces her entrance, "They ran the serology."  
  
They both stand frozen for a second, or maybe I am just anticipating the potential answers, making everything seem like slow motion.  
  
"SNV," she states simply.   
  
I haven't got a clue if that's good, bad or indifferent.  
  
"HPS?"  
  
She nods, "You were right."   
  
Thanks for the acronyms, but that means absolutely nothing to me. Dr. Grander doesn't waste anytime explaining, and instead jumps right into action.  
  
"Get him started on ribavirin and check his renal functioning so we can rule out HFRS. I'll start up a platelet transfusion."  
  
The activity around me is dizzying. The crowd clears for a second and I see Davis, who happens to be standing in front of Fred. Both are watching the medical circus in fascinated confusion.  
  
"Wha… What does that mean? What's going on?" Davis is stammering and obviously overwhelmed by the sudden flurry of activity brought on by 6 simple letters.  
  
A nurse approaches him, "HPS - Hanta virus Pulmonary Syndrome. It's an airborne virus that is usually carried by rodents. If your friend had been in infested areas, as I can imagine some drug houses would be, it could have been easily contracted."  
  
Davis runs his hand over his face, "Well, is it treatable? Will he be okay?"  
  
"There's no treatment, we can just do our best to keep his oxygen and blood levels in equilibrium and hope he can fight it off."  
  
"Hope? Does that mean… Can this be fatal?"  
  
"It can be, but when caught early enough and treated properly with respiratory support, the fatality rate is low."  
  
"Is it contagious? Should he be in here?"  
  
Leave it to Fred to think of that one.   
  
"No, it's not known to be contagious from human to human," she pauses for a second as Nurse Carson flies by with a needle of God-knows-what to inject into my arm. "I'm going to have to ask you to back up, please."  
  
Fred slowly backs onto his side of the curtain while Davis stands still, a shocked expression on his face. He makes eye contact with me and nods, "Hold on, Bosco, hold on."  
  
I'm swaying again. All the activity is making my quest to stay awake that much harder. I can feel prick after prick of needles entering my arm. Normally, that would be enough to throw me over the edge, but as of this moment, I've already hit the ground. It can't really get any worse. I can remember being sick as a child, and making a solemn prayer to God to be on my best behavior if I never had to feel so dreadful ever again. I would kill to feel that way right now. Funny how being in an agonizing situation can change your impression of what 'hell' feels like. Right now, I'm pretty sure I'm there.   
  
My thoughts are interrupted by an anxious voice coming from the other side of the curtain.  
  
"Doctor! I need a doctor in here!"  
  
My heart skips a beat as I hear Fred's plea.   
  
"What's going on?" the older doctor calls out as he is runnning towards Fred's voice. I follow him with my eyes until he disappears behind the curtain.  
  
"She's waking up," Fred's voice cracks as he is obviously close to tears.  
  
For once, I'm with you Fred.   
  
TBC. I suppose I could be persuaded to get another chapter up by midweek…. ;) Keep me updated on your thoughts and opinions! 


	6. Chapter 6

TA DA! Here's Chapter 6. I'm an author of my word! Think you know what's going to happen? Think again! Anyway, thanks for the reviews and keep 'em coming if you want more. Thanks guys,  
  
Joey  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 6   
  
"Faith? Faith, honey, I'm here. It's okay, you're going to be okay."  
  
I want to yell at the medical entourage that's hovering around me to just shut up so I can hear what's happening on the other side of the curtain. There are a lot of things I'd like to yell right now. You don't realize how desperately you need speech to communicate until it is completely taken away from you.  
  
"Officer Yokas? Can you hear me?"  
  
"Don't call her that! She's a person before she's an officer. Call her Faith, or if you must, Mrs. Yokas."  
  
"Fine, sir."  
  
Way to piss him off, Fred. At the risk of being hypocritical, the guy just doesn't know when to back off and shut his mouth.   
  
"Mrs. Yokas? My name is Dr. Bell. Can you try to speak for me?"  
  
Come on, Faith, talk to him. I just need to hear your voice.  
  
"Water."  
  
It must have been her, it was almost too low for me to hear, but I'm sure that was her voice.  
  
"Here, honey." I can hear some shuffling, but it's hard to make out exactly what's going on over there when I'm being poked and prodded every two seconds by my own personal mod squad.   
  
"Fred, where am I?"  
  
Her voice is so low that it's barely detectable. I strain my ears as much as possible in my weakened state, but between the nurses and doctors conversing around me and the incessant pounding in my head, my efforts are pretty much wasted.  
  
"You're in the hospital, honey. You're going to be just fine."  
  
"Hospital?" her voice is much louder now, making my life at the moment so much easier. "Why am I in the hospital?"  
  
"You were shot, Faith. But don't worry about that now. Just relax."  
  
"Shot?" her voice cracks slightly under her shock.  
  
"Don't worry about it right now. I want you to think about getting better, not about last night."  
  
"I was shot last night…" she says it as more of a statement than a question. Her persistence in the matter seems to be toying with Fred's last nerve.   
  
"Not now, Faith!"   
  
It happened, Fred, and nothing you say or do is going to make it go away.   
  
Jesus, with all the crap that they've pumped into my body over the last few minutes, you'd think they could have given me something for my head and throat. I want so badly to fall asleep, to be ignorant of the ceaseless pain, but I can't leave Faith, not now. She doesn't even know I'm here, but I need to know she can be strong - protect herself from Cruz.  
  
"Besides, soon enough, the detectives will be badgering you anyway. They've been hanging around here waiting like piranhas."   
  
"But, Fred, I…" Her voice has an added element of tired desperation.  
  
"No, Faith, please, I'm begging you, don't put yourself through this right now. I want you to work on feeling better. Everything else will sort itself out."  
  
"Mrs. Yokas, are you having any…." the doctors are running through the all too familiar questions. She'll learn to loathe them just as much as I do, I'm sure.   
  
I wish I could feel relieved. I think that I should be, now that I know she's alive, talking, and on the mend, but at the same time, I have this dreadful weight of guilt and suspense. She has yet to say anything to contradict Cruz's statement. I wish Fred would let her talk. I'm sure the FBI is within hearing distance - they're never far away when they want something.   
  
"Officer Boscorelli," the voice shocks me, causing me to jump a little. I have been trying so hard to hear what's happening on the other side of the curtain, that I wasn't expecting someone so close to talk to me so loudly. "I notice you're quite uptight. Are you in too much pain to sleep?"  
  
No, you moron. Well, yes, but that's not the point. Please, just shut up so I can hear Faith.  
  
"I want you to squeeze Nurse Carson's hand once if you're in a lot of pain."  
  
I feel the older nurse gently take my fingers in hers again. I don't bother squeezing. I know that I will regret it in a few minutes - hell, I regret it now, but if they drug me up again, I'll surely be out of it and I just can't be that way right now.   
  
"Okay, Officer Boscorelli, why don't you just try to relax then."  
  
"Bosco?"  
  
Oh God, she just called out to me.  
  
"Don't WORRY about Bosco."  
  
"Fred, was he shot too? Is he okay?"  
  
"No, Faith, he wasn't shot. I don't want you to think about Bosco though, okay? Just think about YOU."  
  
Go figure, she's worried about me. I guess she doesn't remember me standing over her, pressing on her chest, trying to stop the endless flow of blood. I wince in retrospect… I feel as though my physical and emotional pain are in some sort of competition to see which can put me under the fastest. I should have taken those drugs… I probably would have stayed awake longer, anyway.   
  
Through my half-opened eyes I see Davis, frozen like a statue. I forgot he was even here. His look is beyond awkward. He's standing at the edge of the curtain so he can see into both sides. His glance shoots from Faith to myself. Geez, Davis, take a seat - you're even making me nervous.   
  
"Officer Yokas?"  
  
Oh, God, where to hell is Swersky this time? The FBI agents pass me and stop by Davis, the refraction of the light off of their precious badges blinds me. They probably spend a good twelve hours a day shining those puppies.  
  
"We're from the FBI and we were wondering if you could give us your version of what went on last night."  
  
"Do we have to do this now? She just woke up. She hasn't even had a chance to see her family yet."  
  
Fred, I swear to God, I'm going to kick your ass. Let her talk!  
  
"This will only take a second, sir. As soon as we get a statement from your wife, we'll leave."  
  
"Fine, but make it fast."  
  
Yeah, make it fast because I know through experience that I'm not going to be conscious for too much longer.   
  
"I want to talk to Bosco."  
  
"BOSCO?! NO, FAITH!"  
  
Easy, Fred. He speaks my name with such vengeance you'd swear I was Satan.  
  
"Officer Boscorelli is not available for comment right now, that's why it's particularly important that we speak to you," the FBI agent states, sounding more like an automated answering machine than a person.  
  
"Why isn't he available? What aren't you telling me, Fred?"  
  
"Why do you care so much about Bosco? Hasn't he done enough to hurt us?"  
  
"No, Fred, you don't understand..."  
  
My eyes are losing focus, causing me to blink more frequently. Stop worrying about me Faith and answer their damned questions. I'm losing it here.  
  
"Officer Yokas, what happened in that hotel room last night?"  
  
That's it, right to the point.   
  
"Hotel room…?"  
  
"Faith, just tell him what happened and then they'll leave us alone."  
  
"That's just IT, Fred. That's what I've been TRYING TO TELL YOU!" She pauses, obviously fighting back tears, "I DON'T remember."  
  
WHAT? No, no, no. THINK, Faith. How can she not remember? I hope this isn't some stupid ploy to protect me, or she'll get an ass kicking right after Fred gets his.   
  
"You don't remember… anything?" Fred's forlorn question looms for several seconds.   
  
"I'm… sorry… I just don't… remember."  
  
I can hear Faith starting to sob. How could this happen? She didn't do anything wrong.   
  
I feel myself starting to sweat, and I know that everything that's happened over the last little bit is now taking its toll on my body. Most of my life has been less than ideal, but nothing compares to the past day.   
  
My eyes are watering from the growing pain in my head and throat. I close them in an attempt to dull the aching throb, and the effect is minimal, but welcomed. I thought that when she woke up and told the truth, I could stop fighting and slip back into the world of oblivion. Now I'm starting to wonder if I will ever rest peacefully again.   
  
"We can't have her getting upset like this. I'm sorry but she's recovering from major surgery and this isn't helping the healing process. Can you please come back later?" The old doc is stepping in.  
  
"I'm afraid we can't. You don't remember ANYTHING?" The FBI agent is getting in line for his ass-kicking. Wait, who am I kidding? Even Sully could beat me in a race right now.   
  
"No…"  
  
"Does the name 'Aaron Noble' ring a bell?"  
  
Silence. I'm trying to recall if I had ever referred to Noble by his name to her. I don't think I ever did, he was always just 'the CI'.  
  
After a few seconds, she finally responds, "No."  
  
Again, nothing. The silence accentuates the pounding in my head that's filling my ears and now causing a continual stream of tears to flow down my cheeks.  
  
Someone say something. I fight the dizziness and crack open my eyes to see Davis' reaction. He hasn't moved an inch, and still has that 'deer in headlights' look on his face. He breaks out of his trance and looks towards me, his concern evident.   
  
He takes a couple slow steps towards me and whispers, "Bos, you ok?"   
  
He must be within 6 inches of my face and I barely made out his whisper.  
  
No, this time, I'm not okay. This is so bad. Faith was supposed to wake up and tell them what really happened, contradict what Cruz 'claims' happened. Now, she doesn't remember and I can't do anything to help her.   
  
I can feel the sweat dripping off my forehead now. My throat has turned into my biggest physical concern. I feel like a knife is continually stabbing the tender tissue and I can barely take the overwhelming pain anymore.   
  
I slowly blink my eyes, causing a whole new round of tears to fall.   
  
"Bosco," again with the whisper. Go away, Davis. I never want to be this close to any man, ever again.  
  
"Officer Yokas," the FBI agent's voice causes Davis to jolt back.   
  
"I'm afraid we are going to have to place you under arrest."  
  
WHAT?  
  
"WHAT?" Fred is screaming.  
  
I can hear the clinking of handcuffs on metal. How could they do this to her? How could those bastards side with Cruz?  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, but this is our only option right now."  
  
"Where do you THINK she's going to GO?!"  
  
"Right now, your wife is under arrest for attempted murder of a police sergeant, and until someone else makes a statement that proves otherwise, we are going to have to hold her."  
  
"Attempted murder?" Faith manages to squeeze out between soft sobs.  
  
"What the hell do we do now?" Fred's explosiveness is surfacing. I'd probably be the same way.  
  
"We wait. Wait on Officer Boscorelli, or wait until your wife gets over her bout of amnesia."  
  
That asshole sounds so smug. I wonder where the hell they get these 'agents'.   
  
I can't believe they cuffed her. Now they're waiting on me? Go figure, this all comes back to me. There has to be another way. Maybe Swersky can do something about this. Jesus, Faith, how could you forget? I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. In a weird way, I'm envious.   
  
This is bad… I can't save her, I can't even save myself. My whole body is shuddering every few seconds. I'm so cold, yet I can feel sweat budding from every pore. My hands are involuntarily forming fists with every new wave of pain that builds on the last. I could really use that pain medication now. Now I have to fight. I have to fight for Faith. It would be so much easier to just give up - give in to the pain.   
  
"We have to wait on BOSCO? He looks like death! What if he never comes out of this?"  
  
Thanks, buddy. Remind me to kick your ass twice over.  
  
"Then unless you can find something else, or someone else that can say differently than Sergeant Cruz, we'll have to follow through on this."  
  
Silence resonates through the room. Davis remains in his statue-like pose. He looks like he's ten years old and he's just seen his first horror movie.   
  
"Bosco…"   
  
I can hear footsteps getting closer and through my barely-opened eyes, I see Fred standing at the foot of my bed, arms fixed at his side, hands balled in fists, face flush red with anger.   
  
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"  
  
TBC. Review, Review, Review! You know what to do if you want more ;) 


	7. Chapter 7

Honestly, I wasn't going to post another chapter until Monday. However, after receiving all those wonderful reviews from you guys, I felt it would be unfair for me to make you wait, seeing as how you did exactly what I asked. So, I got my ass in gear and started typing! I can't thank you guys enough,. This is my first fic and with all the support I have received, I think I may just write another when I'm done this one. It's contagious!  
  
Though I must credit the person who makes my work legible. Sarah (commonly known as Sarahlee), I couldn't do this without you, girl! Thanks for all your help, I owe you big time! Enjoy the Chapter :)  
  
Joey  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing... is this a broken record?  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
I can hear footsteps getting closer and through my barely-opened eyes, I see Fred standing at the foot of my bed, arms fixed at his side, hands balled in fists, face flush red with anger.  
  
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Oh shit, Fred. This is not good. I am not usually the level head in these sort of situations, but really, what is this going to accomplish? Before I can progress any further, he lunges at me.  
  
For the first time since I was a little kid, I'm helpless. I can't move, let alone fight back. There seems to be no method to his attack - he just wants to hurt me. Doesn't he know that hurting me only decreases the chances that his wife won't go to prison? I know he's not thinking, he's just reacting.  
  
I close my eyes as he lands a punch to my left temple. The blow jars my already vulnerable brain, making it sound like everything's underwater. I can hear both Fred and Davis yelling, but Fred's hit has sent me in such a downward spiral that, for the moment, I am unable to comprehend what's being said.  
  
In the vicious struggle, Fred has yanked on the ventilator tube, causing it to shift in my throat. The movement causes such excruciating pain that my eyes shoot open and I hear myself utter a muffled cry. Instinctively, I roll over on my side to protect myself. Fred lands a couple more blows around my face and neck as Davis -I assume- is trying to pry him off.  
  
"LET GO OF ME!" His arms are flailing, occasionally making contact with my skull. Each shot injects more pain, causing my stomach to turn and eyes to water profusely.  
  
"FRED! FRED! BACK OFF!"  
  
Yeah, that's Davis. Struggling with the crazed animal who is vehemently attacking me.  
  
Fred lands one more hard blow to my abdomen, and I swear I'm going to vomit. My reflexes cause me to swallow but the action is quickly interrupted by the ventilator tube. I start choking violently on the intrusive plastic. I can't breathe. My lungs and stomach are fighting the tube with every last ounce of strength.  
  
Davis is finally getting Fred under control, and as he is attempting to peel him off of me, Fred's knee jabs into my chest, causing me to struggle more forcefully for any little bit of oxygen.  
  
"You need to CALM DOWN! Got it?!"  
  
You tell him Davis.  
  
"June! I want you to run and get Dr. Grander!"  
  
The old doc is attempting to roll me over into my original position. He looks at me for a second before he does anything, appraising the damage.  
  
Com'on, Doc. Do something. Help me! Can't you see I'm in trouble here? It feels like I have been without oxygen for an hour. I continue to gag and choke on the tube while the old man mocks me with his stare.  
  
"What happened here?"  
  
Doogie to the rescue.  
  
"He was jumped by Mrs. Yokas' husband."  
  
In my furious battle for air, I glance over to Davis. He has Fred cuffed, but is making no attempt to move him out of the room. I make eye contact with him briefly. He's breathing heavily and he still looks terrified. I close my eyes, breaking the contact after a second. I can't stand to see people look at me with such pity. I hate being this fragile and defenseless.  
  
"We're going to have to extubate," Dr. Grander anxiously shouts. "Have an oxygen mask ready. We'll attempt to stabilize him. I'm going to need a laryngoscope with a 3 blade ready along with 120 of suxamethonium."  
  
My chest and stomach are simultaneously heaving - straining to draw in oxygen. I hear a descending hiss as the failing ventilator is dissembled.  
  
Dr. Grander is practically on top of me as he puts one hand behind my neck, lifting it slightly, and pulls the tube out with the other. The action causes me to cough violently. Each cough tears at my throat and I can taste blood seeping into my mouth. The taste is sickening and my stomach begins to convulse. The Doc manages to rotate me so I don't choke on the few contents that my stomach is discarding.  
  
"What the hell? Where's all this blood coming from?"  
  
The little guy sounds panicked for the first time since I've met him. For his age, he's actually fairly calm and confident.  
  
The acid from the bile burns the open cuts in my throat, amplifying my pain level and making the struggle to regulate my breathing that much harder.  
  
I feel someone place a mask over my mouth and nose. It's not helping. Can't they see I'm dying here? My body is jerking with each attempted breath. I can hear myself gasping which makes me wonder why they aren't doing anything about it.  
  
Hands are pressing on my abdomen and then up my chest. I see Dr. Grander shake his head, "No edema in the abdominal cavity."  
  
My vision is going spotty. God, I wish they'd just do something.anything.  
  
"Give him the 120 of Sux. Let's intubate again, he's in respiratory failure." Dr. Grander attempts to keep me immobile while Nurse Carson is giving me the injection. Hurry - please hurry.  
  
"Three blade."  
  
Again he climbs on top of me, staring into my mouth with his little, lighted tool.  
  
"I'm going to need some suction in here."  
  
Nurse Carson shoves a smaller, vacuuming tool into my mouth and I notice the steady stream of red liquid flowing through the tube.  
  
"I can't see the cords, his throat is practically swollen shut. How the hell did that happen?"  
  
The doctor tosses the tool off to the side, "June, pass me a 2 blade instead. If you keep suctioning, I may be able to get an opening and slide it in there."  
  
He fiddles with a new attachment and then jerks my head back to try again. Please, Doc, hurry. My gasping has died down and I'm slowly fading. The swimming sensation has returned. I'm almost detached, but not oblivious to the pain. I wonder if this is my punishment. It's like a bad rash, just when you think it can't get any worse, it spreads to a whole new area. I don't know how much bigger this can possibly get. I'm not a religious person but I find myself silently praying for a small reprieve from this horror. Not just for me, but for Faith too. I don't think it's too much to ask. I've never wanted anything so bad.  
  
Maybe this is it. Maybe this is how it ends for me. Not a GSW, not a valiant effort to save a helpless civilian, but this.  
  
You know, Fred, if you had just left me alone, get well enough to talk, save Faith, and THEN kicked my ass, things could have worked out a whole lot better for everyone. But now, I lie here, unable to breathe - dying. If I die, Fred, who the hell is going to save your wife? Huh? - Jag-off.  
  
"I think I'm in. Start him slowly, just to be sure."  
  
The repetitive whooshing sound is back. I wait for a few agonizingly long seconds.  
  
"June, what's his temp?"  
  
"103."  
  
"He doesn't stand much of a chance here unless we get that under control," the Doc sighs, traces of despondency apparent in his voice. "Is his scalp- lac infected at all?"  
  
The old nurse gently pulls at the tape holding the bandage on my forehead. She frowns and shakes her head, no.  
  
"Well, that's one less worry I guess, but there appears to be an infection in his throat. Can you get a swab and run it up to the lab? Something's definitely not right there."  
  
He presses his stethoscope onto either side of my chest. "Okay, breath sounds are good. You can up his oxygen."  
  
The nurse presses several buttons on the machine at my bedside, releasing sweet oxygen into my lifeless lungs. Relief courses through my body, relaxing my tightly contracted muscles. I open my eyes slowly, and that's when I notice it - my audience. Ty is standing behind Fred, holding onto his cuffs with one hand and the other hand placed on his own forehead, as though he's ready to cover his eyes if it gets too scary. Fred is staring at the ground. Who knows, maybe he's ashamed of his actions. The two FBI agents are off to the left, their badges still in their hands, but at their sides. Incredibly, I guess they figure they have no authority over this matter. Several doctors and nurses are working on me silently.  
  
Dr. Grander follows my gaze to the awestruck crowd, "While you're running that swab to the lab," he directs towards Nurse Carson, "check in with recovery and tell them that Mrs. Yokas is in stable condition and no longer needs to be in the ICU. I think it would be in everyone's best interest to move her out of here."  
  
Nurse Carson nods her agreement and several other doctors and nurses continue working on me silently. There must be nothing left to say.  
  
I blink slowly as the nurse approaches me with what looks like a giant Q- tip. She slides the object into my mouth and rubs it against my tender throat. I wince and my eyes water again. Just when I thought it couldn't get more uncomfortable, I reopen my eyes to see they're still there- watching. The insufferable silence is broken by a weak voice.  
  
"What's going on? Is everything okay?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
Someone answer her because I sure as hell can't. Tell her it's fine. Tell her that her husband 's a saint. Tell her anything to make her happy. Just don't tell her the truth. Don't tell her that I can't save her - that I've failed her once again. Just please, don't tell her that.  
  
TBC. Let me know how you feel about this one. Thanks! 


	8. Chapter 8

So, here's Chapter 8 for all of you that have been patiently waiting (and some, not so patiently waiting!). Thank you so much for all of your reviews. I've said it before and I'll say it again, reviews make all the difference in the world for a writer.   
  
Again, Sarah, you know you're my hero ;) Thanks for all of your hard work.  
  
So, enjoy and let me know what you think.  
  
Thanks guys,  
  
JOEY   
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 8  
  
"Okay, that's it, everybody out!"   
  
Doogie's angry, but I can't say that I disagree with him. I wish my audience would dissipate. Their pitiful stares are taunting me.   
  
"I'm not leaving my wife!"   
  
"Yes, you are. You can come back later during proper visiting hours. As of right now though, I want EVERYBODY out!"   
  
He peaks around the curtain at Faith, "And for Christ's sake, take the cuffs off of her, she's not going anywhere."   
  
"I'm afraid we can't do that," the one FBI agent is ready to raise his 'I am God' badge.   
  
"You can, and you will. You can have a guard standing outside the door for all I care, but I will not have one of my patients in cuffs."   
  
The agent lowers his badge and shrugs in reluctant agreement, "Fine. Greg," he says while turning to face his equally arrogant partner, "have an officer guard Mrs. Yokas until she's ready to change rooms, then we'll come back and question her some more."   
  
I hear the soft clink of the cuffs being removed as the younger agent whips out his cell and begins to leave the room.   
  
"No cell phones in the hospital. There's a pay phone down the hall."   
  
Wow, Doogie's really laying down the law. Power to the little guy. In a weird way, I kind of admire him for it. The agent slowly closes his cell phone without removing his gaze from the floor.   
  
The FBI stooges leave, looking a little defeated after being put in their place by a minor.   
  
I'm suddenly aware of how tired I've become. I feel like I could sleep for an eternity.   
  
The crowd is thinning and Davis completes the mass exit when he spins Fred around to march him out of the room. I notice he has removed the cuffs. Damn, Davis, you're such a pushover. Have the guy spend the night in Rykers. He's no help to Faith anyway.   
  
Just a couple of nurses and Dr. Grander remain hovering around me.   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
Faith's voice - she's so close. I wish they'd just let me see her. I just want a quick look, but apparently that's too much to ask.   
  
The young doc responds by walking over to her side of our shared curtain.   
  
"Yes, Mrs. Yokas?"   
  
"Is he... Is he going to be okay?" I can tell, through experience, that she's close to tears.   
  
"Who? Officer Boscorelli?"   
  
"Uh huh"   
  
"We don't know...yet."   
  
Don't worry about me, Faith. I want to call out to you - tell you I'm fine. Bruised, but not beaten. But I can't. I wonder if we'll ever speak to each other again. I hate not being able to talk to her. Even before this catastrophe, we hadn't really spoken in a long time. Too long. That's something, more than anything else, that I would like to change.   
  
I'm drifting off again. This time, I can't stop it. My body is completely out of my control. The pain is ceasing as I drift into unconsciousness. It's such a welcomed relief that I won't even try to fight it this time. For the first time since I've been here, I just want to sleep.   
  
*************   
  
"Bos?"  
  
Faith? If this is some sick joke my brain has decided to play on me, I'm going to be really pissed off.   
  
"Bos? Can you hear me?"  
  
No, don't cry. Why are you crying? Why do you even care about me?  
  
I have to open my eyes. I wonder if she's waiting for a response. How much did that nurse tell her? Does she know I am incapable of speech right now?   
  
I focus all my attention on opening my heavy eyelids. They feel as though they each weigh a thousand pounds. My efforts are futile and I'm crossed by hopelessness, something that's been happening far too frequently these days. I know I can't be defeated this easily, but it's far more challenging than trying to wake up after a long night at the bar.  
  
To my delight, I see a ray of light filter through my fluttering lids.   
  
"Bos?!"  
  
My eyes finally open, but I find my focus is waning. I blink several times, attempting to clear the haze and regulate my vision.   
  
The room slowly comes into focus. No one is at the door, and there doesn't appear to be any nurses or doctors working on me - what a rarity. I wonder how long I have been asleep. There appear to be no physical differences, though I'm not experiencing the excruciating pain that I was earlier. My head continues to throb with every heartbeat, but I have become accustomed to that. Everything else is tingly with numbness. They must have me on a new round of painkillers, which would explain why I'm so tired.   
  
Something out of the corner of my eye grabs my attention. I turn my gaze towards the curtain and am shocked to see that it's pulled back, revealing the whole other side of the room I have yet to view.   
  
"Bos?"   
  
I slowly lift my gaze and am met by Faith's concerned eyes. I don't even know what to think. I've seen her nearly everyday for almost ten years, but never has it been this anticipated.  
  
She looks tired and pale, but strong enough. I guess I feared the worst. Though I knew she was awake earlier, I find it hard to believe anything until I see it with my own eyes. I should really work on my trust issues. Then again, I trusted Cruz and look where that got me… in the ICU with my so-called partner. Maybe I should first work on my decision making skills before I tackle the trust issue.  
  
"Bosco?"  
  
I don't know what she wants me to do exactly. Maybe she expects me to sit up, pull the tube out and carry on a conversation with her, but that's not about to happen. I attempt a nod, but it's so subtle I doubt she'll catch it.  
  
"Bos," she's looking into my eyes and she actually looks terrified. "I know I didn't do this, Bos. I wouldn't. I would never try to hurt you like that. You know that."  
  
She really doesn't remember. She thinks she did something to hurt me?! That's a stretch. Her words bring on the sensation of overwhelming guilt that tears at my heart. I'm going straight to hell. Somehow my partner gets shot trying to help me, loses all recollection of the event, and now they've got her convinced that she was trying to hurt ME.   
  
I look straight into her eyes. I've never seen her look so unsure of herself. If she knew or remembered the truth, she'd be rushing over cut off my oxygen supply.   
  
"Bosco, you're going to be fine. You're going to make it through this."  
  
She must have mistaken my solemn look for concern over my own status. Faith, I don't give shit about myself. I would die right now if it weren't for you. Now, I've got to fix this. I've got to live in order to save you from me. Ironic, isn't it?  
  
Her face becomes blurry, and I blink a few times to get a clearer view. It only helps minimally. She looks… ashamed. Oh God, I can't watch this. I close my eyes to avoid her piteous stare as well as to relieve the relentless throbbing in my head.  
  
"I'm sorry, did you want this closed?"  
  
My eyes shoot open to see a nurse holding the curtain in one hand while addressing Faith.  
  
"No. If it's okay, I'd like to keep it open."  
  
"Sure, no problem. There are still no other beds available in recovery, so we're just going to keep you here until something opens up."  
  
"Thank-you."  
  
"How are you feeling? Are you comfortable? Do you need something to help you sleep?"  
  
"No. I'm fine, thanks. Could you check on him though? I think he's in pain."  
  
Oh, Faith. If you only knew the truth, you'd be trying to inflict as much pain on me as possible.   
  
Now that I've seen her, and know that she's okay, I actually want that curtain closed again. At least then she'd stop worrying about me so much and I wouldn't have to see her torture herself over something she didn't do.   
  
I want to kill that bitch, Cruz. As if she hadn't screwed me over enough, she goes and attacks Faith, then pulls that innocent pouty crap to turn all suspicious eyes away from her. Who knew the devil is a five foot three, 110 pound female?   
  
"He's due for another round in a few minutes. I'll have a doctor come check on him first though."  
  
"Oh, okay. How's he doing?"  
  
"I don't think a lot has changed, but that's for the doctors to decide. Do you know him?"  
  
Unfortunately for her, yes.  
  
"Yeah, he's a friend of mine."  
  
A friend? I mean, I always assumed we were friends by default, but I've never heard her refer to me as anything but her partner… or on a bad day, her kid.  
  
Again, I pry my eyes open to meet hers. She looks like she's seconds away from bursting into tears. That look - it stabs me like a knife. I have to get this God-damned tube out of my freakin' throat, be capable of speech for two minutes, set the record straight, then face whatever consequences are coming my way. Even death… I just don't care enough about my life anymore to worry about dying.   
  
"Maurice?"   
  
I thought they said no visitors? I'm having a hard enough time dealing with Faith and my perma-migraine right now, to have to face my mother.   
  
"Rose."  
  
"Hi, Faith… Is he," she cautiously points a finger towards me, her voice barely above a whisper. "How is he?"  
  
"I… I don't know."  
  
Oh no, they're both crying. I really can't deal with this right now. In the last few frenzied hours of torture, I had totally forgotten my mother. She would kill me herself if she knew that.   
  
I feel Ma's hand gently wrap around mine. I must be cold because her hands feel hot against my skin. It sends a shiver up my spine, causing me to shudder. I'm suddenly aware that I'm absolutely freezing. Why don't they pump up the heat a little in here?  
  
"Maurice, honey. It's your mother."  
  
Yeah, Ma, I saw you come in. I just can't stand to watch you cry over me. Instead of opening my weary eyes, I try to squeeze her hand. That should reassure her enough.   
  
"Excuse me, visiting hours are over."   
  
Dr. Grander must have followed her in. After Fred's little outburst, I can see why he'd be suspicious of anyone wandering into the room. Fortunately, he doesn't sound as aggravated as he did earlier.  
  
"I know. I'm sorry, I'm his mother. I just wanted to see him."  
  
"That's fine, but he's had a few unpleasant visitors already - I'm just trying to keep tabs. You can stay for a few minutes while I check him over, but then I'm going to have to ask that you wait outside."  
  
I open my eyes enough to see Dr. Grander and the other nurse start their analyzing.   
  
"His temperature hasn't changed. Do you still want to leave the cooling blanket on him?"  
  
That would explain why I feel like I'm in the Antarctic.  
  
"Yeah, leave it on. We'll adjust his fluids to try and bring that down. I have a feeling it's the infection in his throat that's causing the problem more than the virus itself. With his weakened immune system, I don't know if his throat will even begin to heal until he's extubated, which leaves us with very few options." He pauses while devising his plan.   
  
"Just check to make sure his O2 levels are good, and if necessary we'll make further adjustments in his treatment for the next round. I want to give everything we've done a chance to work before we go changing it all."  
  
Through the door, I catch a glimpse of the guard that's been assigned to Faith. Just the thought of it makes me feel sick. That, in addition to my headache, causes me to wince, contracting my muscles in pain. I'm so cold - I can feel my entire body shivering in one last, desperate attempt to retain warmth.  
  
"Hold on, Officer, we'll get you something for the pain in a second."  
  
"Please, give it to him now. I can't stand to see him like this."  
  
Then leave, Ma. Please, just leave. I'm over-dosed on pity. I don't even want to feel sorry for myself, let alone have others feel it for me.   
  
She kisses my ice-cold hand and runs her fingers across my forehead.   
  
"He's warm."  
  
"Yes, well, he's running a fever. We're doing our best to get it down and stabilize him."  
  
Oh Ma, some things never change.  
  
"They're doing everything they can, Rose."  
  
I feel my IV move and am instantly warmed by the sensation of the painkillers being infused. The injection takes immediate action, permeating my cells, and I begin to experience that familiar floating feeling.   
  
The two women that care about me most are beside me when I need them most - but I don't want them near me. I really have to work on those issues of mine, because I'm pretty sure that's not normal.   
  
I hear them both sniffle, and strangely I feel semi-comfortable. One of Ma's tears drops on my hand and she quickly moves to wipe it away.   
  
It could be worse. At least Fred's not trying to kill me. I've seen Faith, and my mother cares about me enough to visit. At least they're with me right now…   
  
A shrill noise triggers the agonizingly sharp lightning to shoot through my skull, causing me to cringe in anguish.  
  
"Officer Boscorelli!"   
  
I can feel the Doc's knuckles digging into my chest, searching for any form of reaction from my limp corpse.  
  
"NO! Maurice!"  
  
"He's crashing! Ma'am, you're going to have to back up. I need some help in here!"  
  
I'm sorry Faith…  
  
TBC. Review and you will receive! 


	9. Chapter 9

Hello, friends! Thank-you so much for reading and taking the time to review. I won't drabble on today, so here's CHAPTER 9!  
  
Enjoy,  
  
JOEY  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 9  
  
Several sharp bolts of lightning radiate through my limp body. The sensation of the electricity vibrating from one end of my corpse to the other is ultimately surreal.   
  
I can literally see the vibrant colors as every shock hits a little harder - a little deeper into my bones and flesh. With each consecutive jolt, I'm brought a little closer to the world of the living, but pushed a little further from consciousness. I can't feel the separate entities of my body, but instead, I feel alternating waves of cold and heat. The rotation gets stronger, each wave of coolness feels more like ice, and each rush of heat burns more like fire. The extremes become unbearable, ice meets fire, arising into some form of absolute zero, until I can no longer distinguish a difference between the two sensations - blending into one definitive crescendo.   
  
"Got a rhythm!"  
  
Lights out.  
  
******************  
  
I never thought I would have to experience what I have experienced in my life. Maybe I should have become a salesman, carpenter, or something a little more practical with less risk. Hell, I doubt even an electrician would ever experience a shock as strong as I did earlier. But no, I chose to do what my Mother insisted I stay away from. Rebellion? Hardly. Just a choice that made me feel in control for once. I make the decisions, I choose the outcomes, I pull the trigger.  
  
Never once in my glory-filled daydreams of cops and robbers, did I imagine it could end like this. Here I lie, in some sort of vegetative state, thinking of what could have been. I never thought it would turn out this way. I never wanted to be this person.   
  
Faith helped make my disappointing life interesting. She challenged me. I never knew what she wanted, and it was a game of whether or not I could guess before she got pissed off or hit me. It made the days fly and my boredom turned into comfort. I found my comfort zone with Faith - then I threw it all away. I have no one to blame for my problems but myself. I could have lead the comfortable life, kept my friends and my sanity, but I needed more. I needed to be in charge, I needed to be better, I needed the excitement of being scared. At the time, it always seemed like a good idea. I never considered the risks or consequences of my choices. I assumed it was the right thing. But now, I'm not in charge, I'm certainly not better, but I'm definitely scared.   
  
I guess I struck out.   
  
Now what? I wait? What am I waiting for? I don't think I'm going to get any better and if memory serves me correctly, I've continually gotten worse. The options aren't presenting themselves. I don't see any way out of this horrifying predicament. Maybe it's time I wrack my brain - examine the options that aren't clear, because if there's one thing that Cruz taught me, it's that there are shortcuts in life - you just have to find them.   
  
So, I begin my journey, my search for another solution. It's time I used my brain instead of my fists or my mouth. It's time for me take control. I'm the only one that can make this better. Not Faith, not any of the thousands of doctors and nurse that have been fussing around, not Swersky or Davis, but me. Who knows, maybe I am in charge after all…  
  
I'm beginning to resurface into the world of the living. As much as I dread the certain uneasiness and frustration that accompany what lies ahead of me, I take comfort in knowing my mission - my one sole purpose. I will find my short-cut, I'll do what I have to do to save-face. Not for myself, of course, but for Faith. She doesn't deserve to be engulfed in that labyrinth of uncertainty and guilt.   
  
It's time to buckle down and get results. This is my one last shot. It's go big or go home.   
  
Here goes nothing.  
  
******************  
  
"Officer? Can you hear me? I want you to try to open you eyes."  
  
"Pulse/ox 70, BP's 90/60, temp's 103."  
  
"Okay, start him on another 20 of ribavirin and increase his Claforan antibiotic drip."  
  
"Officer Boscorelli, I need you to open your eyes. Com'on…" he sounds frustrated and disappointed. I think he's really taking this personally. Trust me buddy, I'm doing my best here.  
  
I focus hard on giving the little doc what he wants. Hell, he's been pretty good to me.   
  
Without warning, the doc digs his knuckles into the middle of my chest, causing a violent pain to surge up through my chest and head. My eyes shoot open in response. Can't say that's how I'd want to wake up every morning, but it's a hell of a lot more effective than my method, so I can't complain.  
  
"He's awake!" the nurse sounds like she's a little too excited about it - like she wasn't expecting it… ever.  
  
"Good. Officer Boscorelli, I need you to really try to stay awake, okay?"  
  
I blink my answer. Whatever you say, Doc.  
  
Dr. Grander and three other nurses continue to rush around me, but everything seems like it's playing out in slow motion. I feel so dizzy and nauseous. I didn't know being shocked would have that result. I always thought it would leave you feeling… well, burnt.  
  
Uneasiness consumes me and I'm beginning to think having this tube in my mouth is not such a good idea. It's been a while; I might be able to breathe on my own. I'm willing to take my chances because right now, I feel smothered, and with every second that goes by, the uneasiness and nausea keep building. Unfortunately, it isn't my decision.  
  
I am brought back to reality when I realize I am staring at Faith. She looks paler than before and her shocked expression gives me the impression that she may be a little overwhelmed by the whole situation.   
  
She takes a shaky breath and breaks the contact, shifting her glance from the doctors to the nurses, in a silent plea for answers.  
  
A nurse must have noticed her dilemma because she places a hand on her shoulder and whispers, "We got him back. It's okay now."  
  
The words obviously hit close to home as Faith nods and a tear streams down her cheek.  
  
I hate seeing her cry. Especially over me. Such a waste of emotion and pointless distress. I shift my gaze straight ahead and notice the crowd that's formed outside the door. Fred and Faith's mother are accompanied by Ma, Davis, Swersky and one of the FBI agents.   
  
I realize that I have nowhere left to look, so I close my eyes to relieve the pressure emitted by their stares.   
  
I guess the perky nurse assumes that closing my eyes means I am falling asleep against her wishes, so she violently jabs her knuckles into my chest again. The pain that results is so incredible that I nearly shoot upright.   
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dr. Grander shoves the little nurse to the side while he attempts to hold me down by my shoulder.  
  
I can't breathe again. The nausea has turned into convulsions, surging from my stomach up into my chest. The heaving is so intense that I find my eyes are squeezed shut and my hands are tightly balled into fists.   
  
"Calm down, Officer, stop fighting the vent."  
  
Don't they understand that this is involuntary? I can't help it that my stomach has decided to turn inside-out. I can't control the convulsions that have me violently thrashing under the their grasp.   
  
"We'll have to extubate again," he spins to grab his equipment, "I don't know how many more times we can do this…"  
  
Wait! I see it! I see my short cut.   
  
Dr. Grander has again, climbed on top of me and swiftly pulls the tube out from throat. The gagging and coughing rip through my throat like a knife. Despite the agony, I know it's time. I need to focus. The door is open, they can hear me. Faith can hear me. This is my chance; it may be my only shot.   
  
"Get a mask on him and give him 10 of valium."  
  
NO! No valium. I see the nurse preparing the sedative.   
  
With my last resources of energy, I throw myself on my side, making it nearly impossible for her to inject the substance through my IV.  
  
You know what people? I have something to say and damn it, even if it kills me, I'm going to say it!  
  
I'm coughing less violently now and though breathing is nearly impossible, I find that if I don't try to take large, gasping breaths, but settle for more shallow intakes of oxygen, I'm able to sustain my own breathing for at least long enough to make my point. The next challenge… talking.  
  
"Wait!" I even surprise myself. It wasn't loud at all, in fact, it was a near whisper, but the urgency was evident.   
  
Everyone has stopped. The only sound in the room is me coughing, as I try to regain my composure so I can speak at least a couple more words.   
  
I have clear view of my audience, and though the door is open, the crowd remains behind the invisible barrier. Their looks vary from concern to fear. I can relate to the fear.   
  
I take shallow, shaky breath and whisper, "FBI agent."  
  
Dr. Grander tilts his head in an effort to comprehend exactly what I meant by that. "You want the agent?"  
  
I subtly nod and he turns his attention to the doorway, "You! The FBI guy. Come here."  
  
The agent points to himself as if so say, "Who? Me?"  
  
Dr. Grander nods.   
  
He slowly enters the room. I want to strangle him. Seconds are vital here, pal - hurry it up.  
  
"He asked for you."  
  
Clearly, the people at the door couldn't hear my plea. In a way, I hope Faith can't hear this. I don't want her to hear it from me, in my deathly state, that I'm responsible for almost getting her killed.  
  
The agent leans in close to me, preparing himself for what I have to say.  
  
"She…" I don't know if I'll be able to do this. I can't breathe. I summon every ounce of power in my system to thrust out a sentence, "Faith didn't do it…" I cough several times before I'm able to complete my 'statement'. "Cruz is bad… I asked Faith to be there… to get Noble's gun."   
  
That's it, I'm out of oxygen and energy. I know that they can't convict Cruz on what I've just said, but hopefully it will contradict her enough that they won't hold Faith responsible.  
  
My lungs are burning from the lack of air and my stomach is lurching, even though it's completely empty. I feel every muscle contracting and releasing, trying desperately to siphon in any last bit of oxygen.  
  
I can't hear what's going on. I know people are talking because I see their mouths moving, but I can't make out exactly what they are saying. They're saying something about draining, but I'm not quite sure what they mean. My vision slowly follows my hearing - fading in and out.   
  
I'm on my back again, but I'm not sure how I got there. Is this it? Maybe… I don't know if I did enough, but it's all I can do right now.   
  
Before I slip off, I see Faith's worried eyes.   
  
I did what I could, Faith. I tried, but I'm not sure if it's enough. I'm sorry if it's not, and I'm not even sure if I'll ever be able to make it up to you.   
  
I see her mouth moving, and despite that fact that I can't hear her, I can tell she's talking to me. She's trying to comfort me. She'll always have that ability - she is my comfort zone.  
  
TBC. 


	10. Chapter 10

I took a little journey out west this past week-end - sans computer - and when I got back and checked my mail, I nearly fell off my chair when I saw the at the amount of reviews you guys sent me for my last chapter! Thank-you soooo much for your unyielding support. First and foremost, I've gotta send my 'shout-outs' to my ever-faithfuls… you guys know who you are, and I can't thank you enough. And last, but definitely not least, Sarah, you're my girl ;) Thanks for EVERYTHING you've done to help me through my first fic.   
  
So, here's a chapter that doesn't explain a whole lot, but I felt this one-on-one interaction deserved its own chapter. I'll get on with the plot in the next one. I hope you enjoy this little piece.  
  
Thanks,  
  
~JOEY~  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-   
  
Chapter 10   
  
Nights have never been easy for me. Somehow, my mind finds ways to make the most peaceful part of my day, a terror-filled nightmare. It could be the heavy darkness or the eerie silence, but exactly what it is that makes my mind wander into the most frightful of realms will continue to be a mystery to me. All I know is that I never really want to be alone - despite what I say and do. Being alone means you only have one person - yourself. If you happen to fall, no one is there to catch you. I never thought of it before, but maybe that's why I'm always looking for another one night stand. It's one night with a warm body lying next to me. I guess I'm a little more insecure than I thought. I should get a dog.   
  
They moved Faith out of the room. In my haze, I heard her begging them to let her stay. If I recall correctly, Fred wasn't too pleased to hear that. That's good news though - at least she's feeling better. She must be if they are moving her out of here. It was hard to determine exactly what was going on with the doctors and nurses throwing my body around, trying to arrange it appropriately for the draining.   
  
To my surprise, the procedure to drain my lungs was originally painless, but my sides are slowly starting to ache at the incisions. I'll never forget the sensational wave of relief when they initially inserted the tubes between my ribs. I quietly begged them to hurry, but they insisted that they had to do it slowly, to prevent any more shock-like effects on my body. Instead, they pumped large portions of painkillers into my veins to relieve my distress. As if on cue, my eyelids grew heavy and I began to 'float' away again.   
  
He said I was dying. He said it so matter-of-factly, too. One of the nurses asked if they should intubate again and Dr. Grander sighed and replied, "I don't think that's going to be necessary. We'll continue to drain the pleural effusion and just try to make him as comfortable as possible. We're talking about a 40% mortality rate… It's not looking good."   
  
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The little doc was the last person that I thought would give up on me. He seemed so gung-ho in the beginning. I actually trusted this guy - something that I don't do very often - and he's ready to throw in the towel. At least Faith left before that conversation took place… I think. I don't even know anymore. I'm stuck in a confusing whirlwind that I have no way of escaping.   
  
Someone is gently running their fingers over the top of my hand. Whoever it is has been there for a while. I won't even bother trying to open my eyes and have some form of communication with this person, who obviously cares enough to stay with me. I'm too exhausted to experience any more hurt. So, I'll just lie here - enjoying the soothing warmth.   
  
************************************   
  
I'm awoken by a drop of liquid that's fallen on my hand. My mouth is dry, so I swallow in an attempt to moisten the flesh… I can swallow. I always took that function for granted. It feels like there is a sandpaper ball in my throat, which is obviously swollen. I cough lightly, which causes the drains in my sides to shift, sending an unexpected shock through my ribcage. I wince, waiting for the pain to alleviate.   
  
Another drop falls, and is quickly wiped away by warm fingers.   
  
I slowly part my eyelids, allowing the bright lights to sting my dilated pupils. Before I am able to adjust to the brightness, the warm touch softly runs across my forehead and then through my hair.   
  
I blink several times to regain focus, only to see my mother's tear-stained face sadly looking back at me.   
  
She sniffles and wipes away a few stray tears as a small smile crosses her face.   
  
"Hey, Baby," her voice waivers.   
  
I tilt my head and moan, "Ma."   
  
She removes her hand from mine to cover her face as she begins to sob. I can literally feel my heart breaking. They told her. They told her the words that every parent dreads from the minute their child is born. They told her she's going to outlive her son.   
  
She leans forward until her forehead is resting on the side of my bed, beside my hand. I place my fingers on top of her head and close my eyes. I hate this. Nothing could be worse than seeing your mother dying inside.   
  
"This isn't happening, Maurice. It can't. You have to fight," her voice is muffled, but slowly raises as she give me her little pep-talk. She lifts her head, allowing my hand to drop at my side.   
  
"Look at me."   
  
Only my mother would give me orders now. I do my best to obey her demands, but every little movement or effort is so draining. I find it hard to even imagine running after a perp. It must be possible though, I did it at least once a day for ten years. I think that subconsciously, I used to give them a chance to run, just for the excitement of a chase. It didn't matter anyway, I always caught them… one way or another.   
  
I open my eyes and my gaze settles on Ma's face. She isn't even bothering to wipe away the streaming tears anymore. She has that look on her face, like she has something to say and she will not rest until it's been said and agreed to. Mikey and I saw that look a lot when we were growing up.   
  
"You listen to me, and you listen to me good."   
  
Is she yelling at me?! Seriously, Ma, that's not all that appropriate right now.   
  
"I will NOT bury my son! I won't do it, Maurice. So you get your act together and recover from this." She pauses slightly, but her expression remains determined. "I'm not asking you, I'm TELLING you. Do you hear me?! "   
  
Like I said, only MY mother.   
  
I nod 'yes', and her face softens slightly.   
  
Despite the tears and apparent internal agony that she is suffering from, she is still stubborn as hell. At least I know where I got it from. I want to tell her not to tear herself apart over this, not to worry, not to cry; but truth is, I'm scared out of my mind.   
  
I've always been told I would be fine - told that I would recover from whatever ailed me. Now, they're pretty much planning my funeral. I'm just waiting for them to come over with a book and have me chose my coffin. Do they think I'm that weak? I have to admit, I feel like shit, but as of right now, I just can't believe that I'm dying. I mean, not too long ago, a machine was breathing for me. Now I'm breathing on my own, conscious and able to speak small words, and they're writing me off. I just don't get it. What's changed?   
  
Again, Ma grabs my hand in hers.   
  
"I love you so much."   
  
"I love you too, Ma." Despite the gentle whisper, the effort to speak leaves me exhausted.   
  
I feel my body beginning to sweat and tremble. I tilt my head back and half-close my eyes. I hear Ma sniffling but her fingers continue to massage my hand.   
  
"Sorry to interrupt," the voice of the third party startles me. "My name's Dr. Jennings. Dr. Grander has finished his shift, so I'll be taking over until he gets back later on tonight. I just came by to check up on you. How are you feeling, Officer?"   
  
I recognize the female doctor, but can't quite place her.   
  
I gather what little energy I have to mutter, "Hot."   
  
"You're hot? Okay, I think we should get the cooling blanket back on you anyway." She turns away to address the nurse at her side. "Where are we at?"   
  
"Heart rate's 85, BP's 55/80, temp's 103.9," the nurse replies systematically.   
  
Dr. Jennings reaches over my head to grab a tongue depressor.   
  
"I'm just going to have a look at your throat for a second, okay?"   
  
I nod and open my mouth as much as possible.   
  
She shines a light into my mouth and analyzes my throat for several seconds. When she finishes, she turns back to the nurse who is fiddling with my chest tubes, "Can you could get him that cooling blanket and increase his Claforan to 2 grams every four hours? I'm just worried the drains are going to get infected too."   
  
She turns back around and lowers her voice to speak me, "Officer Boscorelli, you have a very severe infection in your throat, and in order to effectively treat it, you cannot have a tube down your throat, so we had to remove it. In order for you to breathe on your own, we had to insert those chest tubes to drain the fluid from your lungs. Unfortunately, those tubes are also very susceptible to infection, so it's a bit of a gamble, but we had to act quickly before the infection spread into your blood. I know it sounds like a viscous cycle, but I assure you, we made the decision that is in your best interest."   
  
She sure doesn't mix words, but at least she didn't say, 'We're just delaying the inevitable. This should buy you a couple more hours'. I think my mother would have had a nervous breakdown.   
  
I nod, and she gives me a small smile before she turns and walks over to another patient at the other end of the room.   
  
It doesn't really surprise me that my throat is so deeply infected. There is a consistent throbbing in the sore tissue that reflects every heartbeat. I can often taste blood, that I can only assume is coming from the infected sores. The taste is sickening - playing with my mind more than anything else. It reminds me of all the fights I have been involved in -all the punches I have had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of. As a result, merely the taste of blood causes my stomach to contract in revulsion. I gently swallow, trying to rid my mouth of the horrid taste and ensuing memories.   
  
The nurse re-enters with the heavy cooling blanket. The coolness can't come quickly enough. I'm so overheated, I feel like I've just run a marathon and I can almost see the heat radiating from my sweaty body. I enjoy the minor relief as she places the blanket over me and it begins to work its magic.   
  
Again, Ma and I are left alone. She seems a little more stable than she was before the Doctor stopped by.   
  
She looks old - a lot older than she did when I visited her a week ago.  
  
"All of the Officers were talking about attending a funeral for the female firefighter that died two days ago."   
  
Two days. I can't believe it's only been two days. Two days of pure hell. I would have guessed something closer to two weeks. I wish I could be there with them. We argue and joke, but in the end, we've got each other's backs.   
  
"They send their wishes, Maurice. They care about you. I care about you."   
  
She pulls herself closer to my bed and places both hands over mine.   
  
"You have so much to live for. I would do anything to trade places with you."   
  
Her earlier stability is now gone. She begins to cry again as she repetitively kisses my hand that she is tightly grasping. My eyes are beginning to close and I know my minutes of consciousness are limited. I'm slipping back into that dreaded realm of night, but I'm just too tired to fight it. At least Ma's here. Her mere presence eases some of the pain and uneasiness. She's my warm body right now.   
  
Before she completely loses control of herself, she whispers to me while looking straight into my eyes.   
  
"I just can't live without you."   
  
TBC. 


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, Chapter 11 has arrived. Sorry I have been taking a bit longer than previous updates, but school has been taking over lately… Damn school!  
  
Anyway, thanks so much for reading and PLEASE keep reviewing!  
  
Thanks!  
  
~JOEY~  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 11  
  
In a state of pure mental and physical exhaustion, my mother finally left my side. She had nothing left to say or give and she had cried all the tears one person could possibly cry in a certain period of time. She said something about praying, which shocked me beyond words. I just couldn't picture my mother kneeling in a church, begging God for a favor. We never went to church as a family. I always thought it was because I was lucky. What kid wants to sit quietly for hours on end, listening to some monotonous man preach something that we just don't understand? Maybe Ma is religious, but was just too nervous about bringing two dangerously destructive young boys into a place where making a scene is just SO easy. That was probably it... Either way, she has turned to whatever small thread of religion she has in her to plea her case to God. Maybe I should give it a shot. I'll pray... pray that this whole thing doesn't turn her into a bible-thumping freak like Fred. I don't think I could handle that as well as Faith did. In fact, I KNOW I couldn't. The mere thought makes me shudder.  
  
I have been slipping in out of this weird, semi-conscious state. I don't know quite what to make of it. I can still hear everything that's going on around me - I can feel the doctors and nurses manipulating my body, but I just can't seem to open my eyes or move. It's like I'm paralyzed. I haven't had much of an urge to fight it though, at least in this state, the pain is minimized and I can sustain my own breathing.  
  
The lights went off a little while ago, signaling to start of the night shift. Doctor Grander had stopped by before I slipped into my semi-coma - even though he wasn't scheduled to work until later on. He looked like a teenager in street-clothes. Funny how a uniform can alter someone's appearance so drastically. His eyes were sad when he was addressing me. He just wanted to make sure I was 'comfortable'. I have come to hate that word. To be comfortable I would have to be in my OWN bed, sleeping when I FEEL like it and not when someone injects powerful liquids into my veins, and I certainly wouldn't have holes on the sides of my chest. But, I nodded to make him feel like he had done his job. He looked so defeated, he's really taking this whole thing personally. I can relate.   
  
Now, the hustle has died down, the lights have dimmed, and the soft beeps from all the life-sustaining machinery around can be clearly deciphered. I'm simply bored. I am feeling better, without actually feeling better. I don't know how else to describe it. I just don't feel as helpless as I did before, but at the same time, the aching in my chest, throat and head can be nearly unbearable at times - despite the constant parade of drugs.   
  
In an attempt to entertain myself, I see what functions I can regain as the drugs begin to wear off. At first, I could only wiggle my fingers, but now I can open my eyes, turn my head from side to side, and move my arms a fair bit.   
  
I feel a drop of sweat trickling across my forehead and wipe it away with the back of my right hand. I mentally celebrate the small victory. Super, I can wipe my own sweaty forehead. Apparently, I've also become easily amused.   
  
There is little to no activity around me and the painkillers have almost totally worn off, so I decide to take advantage of the opportunity to engage in an undisturbed sleep. I close my eyes and try to mentally block out the increasingly painful throbbing that is wracking my defenseless body.  
  
Just as I'm about to drift off, I hear the shuffle of feet approach my bedside. As much as the medication is needed right now, I wish they would wait just a few more minutes until I'm asleep. Surprisingly, there is no one adjusting my IV and I can't hear any papers rustling. Despite the pain and exhaustion, my curiosity is getting the best of me.   
  
"Bos."  
  
My eyes shoot open at the soft sound of the familiar voice.   
  
Faith is sitting beside my bed, wrapped in a housecoat, looking tired and worried.  
  
Several seconds pass before I recover from my shock and start to compose my thoughts.   
  
Before I can even begin to think of something meaningful to say, she gingerly takes my hand in hers.  
  
"Your mom came to see me today," she whispers the statement without lifting her gaze from my hand. "She's… she's upset, Bos," she pauses shifting her eyes from the machines at my bedside, back to our hands. "She thinks you're giving up."   
  
I want to yell at her. I don't know why - she's not saying anything that surprises me, but at the same time, there's just something about being called a quitter that rips me to pieces. I feel like I'm being accused or personally attacked.   
  
"Faith…" I'm interrupted by a string of violent coughs that cause me to cringe in agony. Why do I bother?   
  
She shushes me as if I'm a newborn child. Despite the pain, I mentally laugh.   
  
The coughing finally ceases and I concentrate on taking a few shaky breaths before I return my attention back to her concerned face. She's actually looking at me now, making no attempt to avoid my gaze.  
  
The taste of blood stabs at my senses. I close my eyes and gently swallow and I feel a damp cloth being wiped across my sweaty forehead.  
  
"Bosco, I just can't imagine what life would…"  
  
"Stop," I whisper just loud enough to be heard without inducing another bout of painful coughing. "Don't talk about me like it's over."  
  
She tries to smile despite the fact that tears are beginning to stream down her face. She almost looks proud. She's proud that I haven't lost my will to fight. Little does she know, I'm only fighting for her.   
  
The drugs are officially out of my system. A shiver runs through my body, contradicting the overwhelming heat that has enveloped me. They should have come back by now - I'm sure I'm well overdue for my next round of drugs.  
  
My breathing is now consistently shaky beyond my control. Faith is running her hand up and down my arm, as if sensing my severe discomfort. I have to admit, she knows me better than anyone… even my mother.   
  
I close my eyes to fight off the nausea that's ripping through me. My heartbeat can be felt everywhere on my body. It must be because I'm so hot.   
  
Faith is reapplying the cold cloth to my forehead. I can hear her sniffling, trying to stifle the tears that threaten to spill.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
That's definitely a nurse. Thank God.  
  
Even though breathing is not all that difficult right now, my chest is heaving heavily. I cough a few times every third or fourth breath due to the sheer strain on my lungs.   
  
"I've only been here for a few minutes. He seemed alright when I got here."  
  
Faith sounds a little panicked - almost defensive. I don't think the nurse was blaming her for my condition. Then again, she arrives in a hospital and the second she awakes, is told that she's under arrest for attempted murder. I don't blame her for being suspicious and trying to cover her ass.   
  
"It's okay, he's due for more sedatives, antibiotics and painkillers. That should take the edge off," she winks at Faith.  
  
Is this funny to her? Because it sure as hell isn't funny to me!   
  
I can tell by Faith's expression that she isn't quite sure what to do with the nurse's comment - so she says nothing and backs away from my bed.  
  
As quickly as the sedative is injected, my body begins to relax. The muscles release and my breathing starts to regulate. Through experience, I know the painkillers will take longer, but any relief is welcome right now. The aching has leveled off, but is relentlessly consuming every inch of my body.   
  
"Try to relax, Bos." It was a demand, not a suggestion. Even now she's bossy. I miss that.   
  
I realize that my jaw is clenched tightly and I loosen my grip in an attempt to look as comfortable as possible for Faith's sake.   
  
It feels like the air conditioning has just been turned on. The nurse must have increased the coolness on the cooling blanket.   
  
"Is it normal for him to have such a high fever?"  
  
Through my half-opened eyes, I see the nurse sympathetically shake her head, 'no'. Faith just gives a slight nod and nervously sits back down on the stool beside my bed.  
  
After several alterations to my chest tubes, IV's and cooling blanket, the nurse leaves Faith and I alone in the dark.  
  
"Swersky, Sully and Davis stopped by to visit me today," she tells me in a quiet voice while rubbing her thumb over the top of my hand. "They said they aren't allowed to come visit you anymore. Since Fred's little outburst, they've been pretty strict on limiting visitors to family members only," she breaks while she shifts in her chair. "They said the FBI has backed off of me, for the time being. Unless Cruz shows more evidence, her case against me is pretty much a wash… Thank-you for standing up for me. They said you managed to say something to the agent to contradict Cruz. I can't imagine how you did it, Bos… I mean, look at you."  
  
Thanks, Faith.   
  
But really, stop it. Stop thanking me. You have no idea what REALLY happened that night. If you did, it wouldn't be thanks you'd be throwing my way.  
  
Despite the guilt-induced irritation that accompanies her apology, I can't help but feel relieved. Things are beginning to slow down… calm down. I hate the spinning feeling associated with coming out of drugs. It makes me feel like a junkie - not to mention, extremely nauseous.   
  
"Anyway, I said I'd come up here and see how you're doing when the hospital died down for the night. Then your Mom came to see me," she wipes a tear off her cheek and continues. "I had no idea it was this bad, Bos. I knew you were sick, but I just assumed you would get better. But you… you never get sick. I can't even remember the last time you had a cold… It's scary, Bosco."  
  
Yeah, it's scary. Scarier than you could ever imagine. I wish I could tell her that I DO feel better. As hard as that is for me to believe right now as I fight off pain and nausea left, right and center, things are actually beginning to look up… I think.  
  
I allow my eyelids to drift shut and begin to slip into an induced state of sleep.   
  
She came to see me. What more could I possibly ask for? People don't fully understand how important a 'partnership' is - how strong the bond is between two people that consider themselves 'partners'. This is what I'm talking about. She made the effort to drag her ass out of her OWN hospital bed, just to check up on me. It's making sacrifices, but as far as you're concerned, it's not a sacrifice because you consider that person a part of your family - a part of yourself. That's a partnership… and that's exactly what Faith will always be to me.  
  
TBC. 


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry about taking so long to update lately. I'm going to blame this delay on Boscoslut, for getting me involved in another project ;) Just kidding girl, I'm having fun!  
  
So, here's Chapter 12. It's about half the size of my other chapters, but it's quite a change in pace. None the less, I hope you like it! Please review when you're done.  
  
Thanks!  
  
~JOEY~   
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 12  
  
"I'm glad that you're trying so hard, but I just don't want you to push it and have another setback. There's no rush you know."  
  
"Yeah, yeah…," I mumble to Dr. Grander as he sticks his stethoscope to my chest for the umpteenth time today.  
  
He's worse than my mother. The guy nearly cried with joy when my fever dropped. He actually high-fived a very surprised nurse when I my temperature measured at 102.5 this afternoon. I make fun of him constantly, but deep down, I'm glad he's my Doc.   
  
"Okay, Officer Boscorelli, you sound better than this morning… considering," he says while replacing the stethoscope around his neck.   
  
"Doc, how many times to I have to tell ya? Call me Bosco."  
  
"I'll call you whatever I damn-well please. Now shut up and lie back down."  
  
I smirk and shake my head as I comply with the Doc's orders. He's one demanding little punk. I like to do things just in spite of him, but truth is, I'm tired anyway and lying down sounds pretty damn good right now.   
  
Things have turned around drastically in the past 3 days, but as the Doc constantly reminds me, I'm not totally in the clear yet. They removed my chest tubes yesterday, but have been probing me every two seconds to ensure it was the right move. Dr. Grander said the pneumonia and fever will be around for a while to come, but anything's better than that hell I was experiencing a while ago.  
  
I've managed to send waves of panic through the ICU with the minor setbacks I've experienced. I call them minor, but you'd swear it was Armageddon with the way they were throwing things around and screaming at each other - trying to decided what they could do to help me. Two days ago, I woke up with a monster of a migraine - which felt like it was toying with every nerve in my body. I don't think I opened my eyes all day, due to the light-induced pain it would stimulate. You'd think I was on my last breath with the way Dr. Grander was freaking out. It was just a migraine, and though I felt like my head was going to explode, I knew it would go away. After god knows how many years of medical school, you think he'd know that too. Like I said, the guy is more uptight than my mother.  
  
Last night was the worst, and I was beyond thankful that the little Doc was off-shift. I spent the majority of the night engaged in violent coughing fits, which wouldn't have been so bad had my throat not been so sensitive and my system been a little stronger. By 3 in the morning, the night shift doc was ready to cut my sides open again and shove those uncomfortable tubes back between my ribs to drain the accumulating fluid. Just the thought of going back there made me want to yell out in frustration. Thankfully, I was able to suppress the bouts enough to the point where the night doc skeptically held off with the tubes.   
  
I finally fell asleep around 7 am - Dr. Grander started his shift at 8. He was saying something about waking me up when he got there, to see how I was doing, but decided against it when a nurse told him about my less than favorable night. I laughed to myself in my half-sleep when I heard him telling her that they should have called him. The guy should just adopt me.  
  
I woke from my much need slumber around 2 in the afternoon. I noticed a card on my bedside table, which I was told Lieutenant Swersky dropped off on behalf of the 5-5 while I was sleeping. I'm shocked they haven't disowned me. I'm more shocked that Faith hasn't disowned me. I took advantage of my fairly stable condition yesterday to tell her about what really happened that night. She didn't say much at first - just nodded with an expressionless face. When I was finished, she sighed and shook her head, "Damnit Bosco, the things I do for you."   
  
That was it. She didn't mention it again. I wanted to cry with joy. Not necessarily because she forgave me, but because she said she didn't regret it. She mumbled something along the lines of, "You gotta do what ya gotta do."  
  
I'm not sure if she told Fred about the whole thing, or if she made up a lie to protect my image. Either way, she's home now, she's safe and I've made some sort of miracle turn-around… what more could I ask for?  
  
"Hey lazy, I heard you had a rough night," I give a small smile as Faith approaches my bedside.   
  
"Nothing I can't handle," I answer, not letting on how agonizing the whole experience was.  
  
"Rumor has it you're ready for your own room now!"   
  
I can't tell whether she's mocking me, or just genuinely excited about my progress.   
  
"Yeah, it's going to be sad not being able to torture these nurses anymore though," I answer, seeing Nurse Carson in my peripheral vision.  
  
"Just remember who controls the drugs here, pal," the senior nurse replies with a dead-pan expression on her face.  
  
I choose to let that one go due to the increasing exhaustion that's consuming me. Faith can sense that I'm fading, "You get some sleep, Bos. I've gotta go into the house to sign some papers that will help convict Cruz. I'll be back tomorrow. Maybe by then, you'll have your own room." She smiles at me, then turns to leave. Before she even exits the room, I'm asleep.  
  
TBC. Please tell me what you think, I really DO want to know!! 


	13. Chapter 13

Thought it was over? Think again…  
  
Please review, it's much appreciated   
  
Thanks!  
  
~JOEY~  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 13  
  
I just can't take this anymore. I feel trapped and suffocated by the sterility of this hospital. It's like the outside world doesn't exist anymore. I'm stuck in my own little personal world - a bubble, some may call it. There could have been a world war out there for all I know and wouldn't have heard about it. There is nothing I wouldn't give for two minutes of fresh air. That's all I'm asking for - two minutes in the sun. Hell, I'd even take two minutes in the rain. Anything is better than this.   
  
I was moved into my own room today. I thought it would be nice, having some privacy, or as I refer to it, hospital freedom. But instead, I find myself even more bored than I was before. Eighty percent of the time, I'm alone. Occasionally a nurse or doctor stops by, but generally speaking, I'm all by myself. I feel needy, and it bugs the crap out of me.   
  
I'm feeling so much better than I was a few days ago, but they don't seem to agree with me. Today I asked when I would be able to go home, and the smart-ass nurse replied, "You can sign out now, for all I care."   
  
I knew she was joking because she couldn't hide her smile, but it still bothers me that she didn't give me an answer. If she had any idea when I'd be able to leave, she would have told me. I figure in a couple more days, if I keep progressing like I have been, I should be able to go home. I swear, the second I can eat, I'm out of here.  
  
I think they said something about trying out solid foods again. I'm kind of nervous about the whole thing. What is it that they have to try out? I mean, as far as I'm concerned, I put it in my mouth, chew and swallow. I don't quite see how that can backfire. Maybe they're not telling me something... or maybe this freakin' hospital has made me paranoid. Yeah, that's probably it.  
  
I'm tapping my fingers on the bar at my bedside when I hear my name being called out joyfully, Bosssco!"  
  
I look up to see Davis enter my room, followed by Faith and Sully.   
  
I can't help but give a small smile. Not necessarily because they came to visit, but I'm just SO DAMNED bored right now, I would kill for any kind of company.  
  
"Look at you, getting promoted to your own private room!" Faith says while admiring my new establishment.  
  
"Please Faith, I would rather be out in the hall. At least there's some action out there."  
  
"A little bored are you there, Bos?" Faith replies with her eyebrows raised.  
  
I nod, "You have NO idea," I answer while playing with the plastic bracelet that has been fastened to my wrist through the entire ordeal. "I'm just excited to eat 'food' again soon. I've had enough of this intravenous crap."  
  
Sully chimes in with his typically sarcastic comment of the day, "It's an exciting day, Bosco. You get your own room and a hospital feast. What more could you possibly ask for?"   
  
"I could ask that you not be here so I actually get a chance to eat my own food," I reply just as quickly. I must be feeling better, the wisecracks are again flowing freely.  
  
"No, that's okay, Bosco. I'm thinking of having a nice juicy steak tonight. Medium-rare, with mash potatoes on the side. Mmmmm, that sounds good..." Sully closes his eyes while rubbing his stomach with one hand.   
  
My mouth is salivating but at the same time, my stomach is turning. Maybe this whole eating thing is going to be a bit of an event than I thought it would.  
  
"You okay, Bos?"  
  
I snap back to reality at Faith's concerned comment.   
  
"You just went a little pale there."  
  
I nod and try my best to take as deep a breath as my lungs will allow, my voice comes out barely above a whisper, "Yeah... I'm fine. Just thinking about how much I want out of this hell-hole."  
  
"Now now, that's no way to talk about my place of employment," I look over to see a nurse coming towards me, juggling a few charts in her hands.  
  
I shake my head and sigh, but end up coughing painfully a few times. The nurse frowns while setting down the stack of charts on a nearby table, waiting for my coughing fit to end.  
  
"You're not sounding too good officer. How do you feel."  
  
I hate that, I was doing great and she just happens to come in at my worst moment. At this rate, I'm never going to get out of here. I clear my throat in an attempt to regain my voice before answering her, "No, I feel okay. Really," I try to sound as convincing as possible.   
  
She skeptically raises her eyebrows, "Okay," she sighs, "If you say so. But don't be putting on this tough guy act. If you don't feel well, you let someone know. Understood?"  
  
I nod and feel ashamed at how she's made me feel like I'm in kindergarten in front of my colleagues.  
  
I hear Faith stifle a laugh. I don't even bother to shoot her a 'shut-up' glance. I actually want to scream out loud. I lift my head and stare blindly into the space in front of me.   
  
Faith stops laughing, "Bos, you really ok?" she asks in a soft voice.  
  
I shake my head and avert her glance, "Just frustrated."  
  
She just nods, sensing my discouragement.   
  
"Look, we've gotta go check on the status of s perp downstairs. Just wanted to see how you were doing, Bosco. Glad you're feeling better."  
  
"Thanks," I reply to Sully, as he ushers Davis out of the room in front of him.   
  
Faith makes her way over to me and sits on the edge of my bed. For the moment, nothing is spoken. We both wait for the other to make a comment, but the silence drags on for an awkward period of time.   
  
Finally, Faith clears her throat, "You know, Bos, you're gonna get out of here."  
  
I just nod and keep my eyes fixed on the window across the room.  
  
She makes a point of turning my chin towards her with her finger and widens her eyes, "You will."  
  
I have no choice but to look at her now. She doesn't appear to be making any attempt to move. I glare back at her, long and hard.  
  
I just want out of here. I want my health, my strength, my friends, my family. And although before I came here, I wasn't so sure I had some of those things, I realize I must have, because I miss them. I want to scream, cry, throw things and hit something really hard… but I can't. I'm stuck in this god damned hospital until someone else decides it's okay for me to leave. Like I said earlier, as soon as I can eat real food, I'm out of here. I don't care if I have to sign out AMA. I'll do it. Otherwise, I'll lose my mind.  
  
My eyes tear up at the pure frustration associated with my thoughts. I immediately close them to prevent the tears from falling as well as to avoid Faith's gaze.  
  
I feel Faith's finger pull away from my chin. God, I wish she would just go away. I hate this more than words.   
  
"Bosco…" she take a moment before finishing her thought, "It's going to be okay."  
  
My eyes shoot open, my frustration has turned into rage. I HATE being told that. I was told that about ten minutes before overhearing that I was going to die. I don't want to hear anymore bullshit. I'm sick of it all.  
  
"YOU don't know that. NO ONE KNOWS THAT," I scream as loud as my lungs will allow. "Do you see that?" I ask, my voice cracking, as I point towards the window. "I DON'T even REMEMBER what THAT'S like. I JUST WANT OUT OF THIS FUCKING HOSPITAL. Doesn't ANYONE understand that?" I yell as I rip the IV needle out of my arm and whip it across the room as hard as I can. I immediately start coughing as a result of the excessive screaming. My chest burns and I can taste the blood merging into my mouth from my throat.  
  
Faith is standing up, a shocked expression in her eyes. She glances over her right and then left shoulder to see if there are any doctors, nurses or any sort of witnesses to what I have just done. When she realizes that there is no one around, she moves towards me cautiously.  
  
I'm not crying, but the violent sting from the coughing has caused tears to fill my eyes. Due to the distortion from the liquid, I can barely make out Faith's form as she approaches my bed.  
  
I clutch my stomach in pain and tilt forward when the coughing fails to cease as it usually does. My face is increasingly getting hotter and I can feel the sweat forming all over my rigidly-tense body.   
  
The next thing I know, a doctor is pressing an oxygen mask onto my face and encouraging me to breathe slowly. A feel a nurse pressing something soft against the hole in my arm that used to occupy an IV needle. Finally, after several minutes, the coughing slows to a stop, and I take a few shaky, relieved breaths.  
  
My head is tilted back with my eyes closed, but I can still tell Faith's eyes are on me. Chalk it up to years of experience, I guess.   
  
"What the hell happened?" the doctor sounds more curious than pissed.   
  
I open my mouth to respond to him and am cut off by Faith, "I said something he didn't want to hear and he lost his temper a bit… Don't worry, it's not out of character. If anything, I think it's good news."  
  
Was she antagonizing me? By the look that was on her face, I would have guessed no, but after hearing what she said to the doc, I gotta think otherwise.  
  
"Well, try not to get him so wound-up, please?"   
  
I crack my eyes open to see Faith nod and then wink at me. She's unreal.   
  
The doctor bugs me for a few more minutes while the nurse sets up a new IV, then after a stern warning, they both gather their belongings and leave the room.  
  
The whole tantrum took a lot out of me, and I've closed my eyes again in exhaustion.  
  
"You know, Bosco, you aren't going to get out of here any faster by pulling crap like that."  
  
I don't bother responding to her. I hate it when she tells me stuff I already know.   
  
After a few moments of silence, I quietly ask, "How are you feeling, Faith?"  
  
She shrugs while answering, "Good. Not great, but good. I was lucky - if you want to call it that."  
  
I nod again before catching a glimpse of the blood that has stained my bed sheet because I decided to take out my frustrations on an IV. Faith follows my eyes, "I'll have a nurse get you a new sheet. I gotta go, Bos," she says while grabbing her purse, "You sure you're gonna be okay?"  
  
I give her a small nod of reassurance, not wanting to talk too much for fear of another coughing outburst.   
  
"Okay, then. You have fun eating whatever it is they plan on giving you later. I'm sure it will be a meal fit for a king."  
  
She smiles sympathetically before she turns to walk out the door.   
  
Once Faith has left, I glance around to see that there are doctors in my general area, and pull out my IV again - this time gently, making sure I don't tear open any more wounds. I flip my sheet off of my body, and gingerly swing my legs over onto one side.   
  
If I recall correctly, they usually leave your clothes under the bed… I wonder if they left mine around after it looked like I would be here forever. With my hands supporting myself on the bar of my bed, I slide down, lowering my feet to the floor, and then move to stand up slowly. Even at the reduced speed, all the blood drains from my head, causing my vision to go spotty. I close my eyes and tilt my head forward, realizing it's been over a week and a half since I've been on my feet.  
  
Eventually, the dizziness fades and I open my eyes to resume my search for my clothes. I crouch down slowly, my muscles are so stiff, I feel like I'm 90 years old. I blindly reach under the bed and feel my hand brush across fabric. I grasp the articles and pull them out, relieved to see that I have indeed found my clothes. As quickly as I can, which isn't very fast, I dress myself.   
  
I freeze when I hear footsteps. I tense as they approach and then relax when they pass by the door. For God's sake, I'm a grown man, I should be able to get up and leave whenever I want. What am I so afraid of?  
  
I toss the hospital gown onto my empty bed and pat my back pocket with one hand and my jacket pocket with the other to make sure my wallet and keys are still there.   
  
I take one last look around before I turn to leave. Satisfied that I haven't left anything behind, I turn and slowly make my way into the hall.  
  
TBC. 


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter… most I've gotten in a while, and as a result, you get the next chapter sooner! ;) I'm not withholding chapters from you guys, I swear I write them as I go along! But, you inspired me to update faster. So, here's Chapter 14.   
  
Enjoy!   
  
~JOEY~  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 14  
  
I kept my eyes fixed on the ceramic floor of the hospital as I slowly but surely made my way towards the desk to sign myself out. I might as well, they can't stop me from leaving, but at least it will save the panicked phone calls that would surely be made to my mother and/or Faith when they realize I'm missing.  
  
As I approach the desk, I lean forward onto the counter, supporting the weight of my body, and hang my head, waiting for the receptionist to get off the phone.   
  
"Just hold on a second…. How can I help you, Sir?"  
  
I clear my voice before I speak, not quite sure what exactly I'm going to say, "I, uh, need to sign out."  
  
She doesn't respond immediately and I look up to see if she's heard me. She heard me alright, her eyebrows are raised in a 'you're kidding me' expression. When I don't waiver from my request, she shakes her head in disbelief, "Okay then, who was your Doctor?"  
  
I think for a second. I don't know who my Doctor is. I just moved down here this morning.   
  
"I don't know," I note how rough my voice sounds. I proceed talking in a much quieter tone to minimize the coarseness, "The name's Boscorelli."  
  
She reaches for a folder lying directly in front of her, "I haven't even had time to file this yet," she pauses and stares at the folder for a second before returning her gaze to me, "Didn't you just come in from the ICU this morning? You do realize that you'll be signing out AMA, don't you?"  
  
I'm getting frustrated with this lady's judgments. Give me the damn paper to sign and I'll be out of your way.  
  
I don't bother answering her, figuring it will only make things worse. I look her in the eye, hoping she'll see that I'm serious and not in the mood for questions, "What do I have to sign?"  
  
The receptionist shrugs at my bluntness and rolls her chair over to a cabinet behind her, shuffles through a drawer, and emerges with a yellow piece of paper. She jots down some information then hands it over to me, "Sign here," she says, making an x on a line at the bottom of the sheet.  
  
I take the pen and sign my name. My hand doesn't feel like cooperating, and I'm glad I don't have to write anything but my signature - no one can tell if that's a little shaky.  
  
I look up to her and she motions towards the elevators, "You're free to go, Mr. Boscorelli."  
  
I nod my thanks and use my arms to push myself off the counter before proceeding towards the elevator that conveniently opens in front of me, releasing two doctors. None of them pay any attention to me as I push past them and into the elevator.  
  
I have no idea what floor I'm on, but I decide to leave out of Emergency, at least I know where the exits are in there. I press the button and brace my body against the stainless steal supports when I feel the downward movement.  
  
I suddenly regret my decision, realizing that I know far too many people in Emergency. My chances of running into someone familiar are pretty damn high. I recognize that it's too late to change my mind when the doors slide open. I take a shaky breath before slowly walking out into the busy area. A strange cramping sensation is forming in my legs - must be because they've been immobile for so long.  
  
I shove my hands in my pockets, partially because that's what I do when I'm anxious, but also to keep my jeans from falling down. I must have lost a lot a weight because my clothes are awkwardly hanging off of my body.  
  
I notice Proctor working with a patient in an open-curtained exam area. I tilt my chin into my chest to shield my face. Just a few more steps before I get out of here unnoticed. I hear the automatic doors slide open and sigh lightly in relief when I step out into the sun.   
  
About 20 steps out of the hospital, I stop walking and slowly take in the panoramic view while allowing the warmness of the sun soak through my cold skin. After thirty seconds of much-needed sunbathing in the middle of the ambulance bay, I decide it's time to find a cab and make my way home. I can feel my body trembling slightly and I know it will only get worse until I sleep.   
  
Luckily, a cab immediately pulls up beside me when I reach the curb. I slide into the vehicle and shut the door, my aching muscles warm in relief. I tell the driver where to go and I tilt my head back and close my eyes, feeling the soothing movement of the cab beneath me. Just a few more minutes until I can enjoy the warmth of my own bed. Just the thought excites me. It's so close, yet so far away.   
  
"That'll be $6.50"  
  
I open my eyes and realize that I had slept the very short ride away. I gingerly reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. I wince at how tight my muscles are. They seem to be shortening by the second. I hand the driver a ten and don't bother waiting for the change before I pull my body out of the cab.  
  
I know it's only been a about 10 days since I've been home, but it feels like years. I guess that's what people mean when they say traumatic events can add years to your age. The cab pulls away as soon as I manage to shut the door.   
  
Pulling my keys from my pocket, I make my way towards the front door of my apartment building. My hands are shaking, which makes it difficult to maneuver the key into the key-hole.  
  
Faith's gonna kill me. I don't know why this occurs to me as I fumble with my keys, but I can see her livid face as she yells and calls me moronic and stupid, among other things. Oh well, I've always had to deal with the consequences associated with my actions. This shouldn't be any different. It's just that I can only take so much of one place before I completely lose my mind.  
  
The door pushes open before I am able to insert the key completely. I grab it and tailgate my way in as a business-like woman rushes out of the building. I sigh in relief, which turns into painful coughs. It doesn't last for long, but leaves a stinging sensation present in my rough throat.   
  
I look around, no one seems to be watching. I don't know why I'm so paranoid. It's not like I know anyone in this building. There are a couple chairs pushed up against the wall by the stairs and I make my way over to them. I just want to sit down for a couple minutes before I tackle the stairs. I know that there's a stock elevator around here somewhere, but I'm too tired to seek it out.  
  
I gently lower my shaky body into the chair and tilt my head back until it's resting against the wall. Closing my eyes, I dream of my bed waiting 3 floors above. So close, yet so far away.  
  
***********************  
  
I'm awoken by a tightness in my chest and it takes several milliseconds before I realize it's because I'm coughing. I pull my arms around my stomach and lean forward. When the painful coughs finally ease off, I feel my whole body shaking and realize just how cold I am. I squint and look towards the entrance, only to see that the sun is no longer out. I don't know what time it was when I left the hospital, but it sure seemed like mid-day. How long have I been sitting here? And more importantly, how many people have walked by me? Instinctively, I reach back to find my wallet where I left it. At least no one robbed me.  
  
Though my body is screaming at the thought of moving, I use all my willpower to pull myself into a standing position. I feel a violent shiver rip through my entire body and I pull my jacket closed while wrapping my warms around my stomach in an attempt to retain any bit of warmth. My legs seem to be moving independently from the rest of me, but somehow I'm making my way up the stairs. Step by step, I inch my way closer to the comfort of my apartment. Every flight seems to take an eternity to climb. About halfway up the first flight, I remove one hand from my body-hug position, and clutch the banister, using it to pull myself forward.  
  
Despite the shivering, I can feel a film of sweat forming on my face. My legs begin to cramp and I'm suddenly glad I don't live any higher than the third floor. I pull out my keys as I approach my apartment door and force my hands to become steady enough so I can manipulate the key into the lock.   
  
Swinging the door open, I stumble into my apartment. I manage to shut it behind me, but can't be bothered locking it. Making my way over to my couch, I kick off my shoes then flop onto the familiar pillow-padded piece of furniture. While pulling my jacket tighter around my shivering body. I can hear my teeth chattering and realize I should probably have made the extra effort to go into the bedroom to curl op in the warmth of my bed. For now, the couch will have to do. I know I'm lying in an awkward position that I'm going to regret waking up in, but I'm just too tired to readjust my body. Instead, I allow myself to fall into an exhausted sleep. At least I'm home - and the bed gives me something to look forward to. Right now, I've just gotta take things one step at a time.   
  
TBC. Please review! 


	15. Chapter 15

Before I throw out chapter 15, I need to send out some really special thanks to a few people that consistently encourage me to continue this fic. So, I really want to thank all my reviewers, and special thanks go out to Sarah, Aimee, Bo, Ica, Abby, luvcarter, faith_in_Faith, Boscoslut and Ella. Thanks so much guys, I couldn't do this without you, 

~JOEY~ 

Disclaimer: I own nothing. 

-The Hours After- 

Chapter 15 

I feel like I'm spinning and then as a result, falling. It's like I've been whirling in a tight circle for a while, and then tried to walk a straight line. I feel my body jump from the imagined 'fall', and that's when I realize where I am. All I can think about is the coldness that's surrounding me. I remove my hand from the resting spot on my chest and try to wipe the sleep and spinning sensation from my eyes. My fingers feel like ice, and I wrap my hands around each other and slowly rub them together. 

I open my eyes to see nothing... I blink a couple of times to regain my vision, but my very dark apartment does not appear to be coming into focus. My chest tightens a little, but I can't tell if it's because of the pneumonia, the cold, or the haunting darkness that surrounds me. At this point, I don't really care to find out. My head is pounding too hard to think very much and I can feel my body shuddering with every uneven breath I exhale. 

For once, the dark isn't my biggest concern; I'm most worried about the fact that I feel like I've been dunked into the Hudson River in January, and then left out to air dry. 

I need to take a shower. If I can maneuver my brittle body into the bathroom, I know I can warm up enough under the scalding water to be semi-comfortable. 

I reach blindly to my right and clutch onto the back of the couch and try to pull myself forward. I manage to sit upright, but am overwhelmed by how badly my head reacts to the movement. I hear myself moan as shooting pains inhabit my skull. 

I instinctively move my hands to my forehead and lean forward. The iciness of my numb hands seem to neutralize the burning throb enough that after a few minutes, I think I am able to continue my journey to a light switch and then the bathroom. 

Swinging my legs over the side of the couch, I hear a clunk as my ankle connects with the corner of the coffee table. I can't help but laugh at myself - as if I wasn't in enough discomfort... 

I push myself up and by memory, make my way over to the light switch on the opposite wall. Miraculously, I arrive at the wall without further injuring myself. I run my hand along the doorframe until I feel the plastic protrusion of the switch. Anticipating the blinding light, I tilt my head forward and close my eyes before flicking the switch upwards. 

Even with my eyes closed, the light stings, adding to the constant accumulation of pain in my head. 

I lean against the wall for a minute before I feel brave enough to open my eyes. After several tries, I am able to adjust to the brightness and push off the wall, heading straight down the hall to the bathroom. 

I can hear my feet shuffling underneath me, but I keep my eyes focused straight ahead at the shower. I don't even bother closing the door as I begin to slowly peel off layers. I take my jacket off without incident, but in the mirror, I can visibly see my hands and chest shaking from the cold. I decide to start running the water, allowing it time to get hot so that I don't have to stand and wait without the warmth of my clothes. 

As the water runs, I sit on the edge of the tub to pull off my jeans - too tired to attempt the balancing act that usually ends with me nearly falling flat on my face. I can feel the steam rising from the water as it brushes across my clammy skin. I shudder one last time before I pull off my second sock and turn to submerge my shivering body into the water. 

I don't bother using soap. In fact, I spend the whole time leaning against the tile wall of the shower, allowing the water to cascade from the top of my head down over the rest of my body. The warmth reduces my shivering enough that I actually feel slightly better and less dizzy than when I woke up. I open my eyes to see that my body has turned bright red, no doubt slightly burned from the high temperature of the water. I lean over turn the steel knob to the right, stopping the flow of the soothing liquid. Almost immediately, I regret it, as the cold begins to seep back through my skin, inching its way towards my bones at a rapid pace. 

I grab the oversized towel off the rack and as quickly as possible, and try to dry off the remaining water, which has quickly turned frigid. 

Once I am sure the towel has soaked up every last drop of fluid, I wrap it around my waist and stare at the clothes that lie in a heap on the ground. I hadn't noticed the blood stains on my jeans until now. My gaze remains fixed for several more seconds until a coughing fit shakes the bloody flashbacks from my mind. 

Before I am even able to suppress the painful coughs, I step over the pile and leave the bathroom, not wanting to be anywhere near such a vivid reminder of that horrible night. 

Slumping on my bed, I again am overwhelmed by exhaustion. I can't keep my eyes fully opened due to the migraine -yeah, now it's definitely a migraine- that has developed. I turn my head a little to catch a glimpse of the clock. 3:12 am. Not that it matters, it could be 3:12 pm and I'd still just want to sleep. 

My teeth have begun to chatter again. I grab a clean pair of boxers from the basket containing clean laundry from a couple of weeks ago that I didn't get a chance to fold. I slide the boxers into position and toss back my comforter before sliding under the warm covers. I roll over onto my side and curl up slightly, trying to keep as warm as physically possible. 

I lie in the quietness of my well-lit apartment and am suddenly aware of how ragged my breathing has become. I can literally hear my lungs struggling to pull and push oxygen in and out of my body. I can't help but feel a twinge of panic. This isn't good... 

My thoughts are interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone, cutting through the silence like a knife. There isn't a chance in hell that I'm going to get out of this bed to answer that freakin' phone. I'll just let the machine get it. I can hear a voice leave a short message, but can't even tell if it's a man or a woman, let alone make out what he/she is saying. Almost immediately after the message is finished, I hear my cell phone ring. 

I groan, mentally begging whoever it is that is bugging me with all these phone calls to piss off. The cell rings a good 15 times before they give in and hang up. 

I sigh lightly, relieved that the silence has been renewed, but again my attention is drawn to the evident struggle my lungs are enduring. I try to regulate my breathing, but that only results in a painful hacking session that burns my chest and stings my throat. Once the coughing ceases and the raggedness resumes, I settle for taking low, shallow breaths, realizing that there's not much I can do otherwise. Despite the alarming feeling in the pit of my stomach, I can't bother contemplating my state of health any further, but rather, I fall into what I can only assume will be a restless, exhausted sleep. 

TBC. 


	16. Chapter 16

Thanks so much for reviewing, everyone!   
  
Enjoy this chapter,  
  
~JOEY~  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 16  
  
BAM BAM BAM  
  
BAM BAM BAM  
  
Ugh, that's annoying. What the hell is that?  
  
"BOSCO?!"  
  
Davis? What the hell is Davis doing playing drums in my apartment?  
  
It's when I hear the familiar creek of my door opening that I realize he's not keeping rhythm - he's knocking, or I guess it would more appropriately be called 'banging'.  
  
I hear heavy footsteps getting closer and my name being called out every third or fourth step.   
  
"Bosco!"  
  
He must see me because he sounds like he's right behind me.   
  
I manage to open my eyes, but all I can see is the beige color of my wall. I roll over slowly and wince at the pain in my head. I need Advil… fast.  
  
I see what I assume are Davis' knees, and I slowly work my way up until his face is clearly in focus.   
  
"Bosco, you're gonna have to get up."  
  
Who do you think you are, Davis? First off, who the hell gave this guy permission to come into my apartment? Second, what gives him the right to tell me what to do? Davis, you're one lucky bastard I feel like shit, because if I didn't, you'd be one sorry brother.  
  
He must see the disgusted look on my face because he impatiently sighs, "Seriously Bos, you've got to get up and come with me."   
  
He pauses for a second and raises his voice when he sees that I haven't moved, "Bosco, I'm not kidding man. Here," he says, grabbing a pair of my jeans and a sweater out of the laundry basket beside my bed, "put these on, we gotta move."  
  
I swallow and clear my throat, trying to find my voice, "Have you lost your mind?" I sound like I've been screaming at a Metallica concert for the last four hours.  
  
He doesn't answer my question, but starts throwing the layers of blankets off of me, "I tried calling you at the hospital, but they said you left. Then I called here and on your cell, but there was no answer. Did you know your door was unlocked?" he asks, momentarily stopping what he's doing to question my door-locking habits.  
  
I'm so confused. Why is Davis so insistent on getting me out of bed? He's acting just like my mother used to when I was late for school.  
  
When he finishes throwing my covers off of me, he grabs my hand and yanks me into an upright position.   
  
I want to slap him.   
  
"Davis, WHAT is going on?"  
  
He throws my jeans into my lap and starts searching through the basket until he emerges with two matching socks, "I'll explain to you in the car. Hurry man, we gotta fly."  
  
I'm all of a sudden very scared. What the hell could be so important that Davis feels the need to dress me?   
  
The pure adrenaline has me moving faster than I have in days, and I throw my clothes on as quickly as my trembling hands will allow.   
  
I push myself off of the bed to follow Davis, who starts speeding towards the exit as soon as he sees that   
  
I'm fully dressed. The sudden movement upright causes all the blood to rush from my head and I grab onto my bed to prevent falling over. My head is pounding and my vision is blurry, but I have a disturbing feeling that something is happening that is worth going through all of this agony for.  
  
I slam the door shut behind me and continue down the hall. Ty's already at the top of the stairs and only appears to be going faster as we go along.  
  
I'm so cold and dizzy - the only thing keeping me on my feet is this mysterious event that apparently can't go on without me.   
  
As I'm making my way down the stairs, my respiration increases and I can hear every ragged breath with great clarity. Halfway down, I'm forced to stop and clutch the railing as a coughing fit rips through my chest, sending shooting pains through my throat and temples. When finished, I glance down before moving again, seeing that Ty's standing by the door, a look of concern and worry on his face. I know he's not worried about me - there's something else much more significant that is occupying his mind.  
  
I force my body down the remaining stairs and try taking bigger steps to keep up with Ty, who's already opening the door to the RMP parked directly outside the entrance.  
  
My vision's getting worse, which makes me feel sick to my stomach. I maneuver myself into the passenger side of the vehicle and shut the door. Placing my arms around my stomach, I try to suppress the uncomfortable nausea as well as retain warmth. I feel the car begin to move, and I can't tell if it's the bumpy road or my shivering body that's causing me to vibrate violently.   
  
Davis leans over and flicks on the sirens, then proceeds to speed dangerously through the streets. I have no clue where we are going, but I wish we'd get there fast. The sharp turns Ty's taking cause me to feel some degree of motion-sickness, a problem I've never encountered before today.  
  
"You gonna tell me where the hell we're going?" I try to raise my voice so I can be heard over the wailing sirens, but it comes out broken, raspy, and nearly inaudible.  
  
"The house."  
  
"The house?" I ask incredulously. Is this some sort of sick joke?   
  
"Bosco, some weird shit is going down. You aren't going to believe it until you see it."  
  
I shake my head and close my eyes. If I'm dreaming, this is one VERY frustrating nightmare.   
  
The RMP skids to a halt and Ty glances over at me before opening his door. Suddenly, he doesn't appear to be in such a rush.  
  
"You gonna be okay, Bos?"  
  
I turn my head to look at him, his image is fuzzy, but it's clear that worry is written all over his face.  
  
"I don't know, what's waiting for me in there?"  
  
He shakes his head from side to side as he step out of the car and into the street, "It's messed up Bos, it's really messed up."  
  
I follow his lead and swing my door open. I step outside and shudder as a cold breeze sweeps by. Ty waits for me, and places a hand on my back as I pull up beside him, forcing me to lead the way into the house.  
  
He grabs the collar of my jacket before I reach the door, causing me to fling backwards.   
  
"Slowly, Bosco."   
  
Like I'm capable of anything else right now, Davis. I nervously push the door open with my body weight.   
  
I've never heard the house so quiet. Too quiet.  
  
I pull my gaze up from the floor and my eyes widen at the sight in front of me.   
  
"Well, look who is it, the man of the hour."  
  
Her words are spoken with such spite. I can't tell if it's her tone that makes me cringe, or just the fact that she's firmly holding a gun to the head of my very pale partner.  
  
TBC. Remember: Reviews = More Chapters! LOL 


	17. Chapter 17

I just want to apologize for taking so long to update. You guys were awesome with your reviews and I forgot to mention that I had an extremely busy weekend ahead of me. Anyway, I didn't get to actually write this until Monday and then I had to get it edited and whatnot, so the delay for this chapter ended up being A LOT longer than I thought. Again, you guys deserved it earlier, and if you review this one with the same tenacity, I promise I will be quick as a bunny with the next part ;)  
  
So, Ica, my little impatient reader (j/k), this one's for you!  
  
Enjoy, everyone, and thank you so much,  
  
~Joey~  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 17  
  
The rush and sheer shock of the moment halt all momentum. I can feel the light rise and fall of my chest counting out the milliseconds before I respond. Truthfully, I don't know how I'm supposed to react to this. I feel so devastated and lost, and I can honestly say that at this very moment, I just want to die. I don't want to see what comes of this, because deep down in my heart, I know that no outcome could be favorable.   
  
I feel the sudden urge to bolt forward, but at the same time, I want to curl up in a ball on the floor and never face the world again. Nothing about anything makes sense. And worse, I can't even begin to fathom what I would do if I were to make the wrong decision on what action to take. I certainly wouldn't be able to live with myself.   
  
I thought I heard somewhere that in these high-stress environments, the inner 'emergency' control is supposed to click on. I can't say I feel it - in fact, I feel so completely out of control it makes my whole body shake in fear. I try to yell, but I can't open my mouth. I try desperately to move, but my feet resemble two sticks in mud, the more I struggle, the deeper I sink with no hope of rescue.   
  
My vision is hazy, and the pounding resonates in my head so loudly, that I'm sure it's the only audible sound in the entire building. Through my distorted sight, I catch a glimpse of Faith's terrified eyes. Though her fear is clear, I know her well enough to recognize that she's sad. I can see it behind her forthright emotions - I can see what other people can't. If only such a useless skill could help me -or her- right now.   
  
I have only been standing here for nine or ten seconds, but I'm sure the visions and emotions of this moment will haunt me for the rest of my life. I tear my eyes away from Faith's knowing that the longer I take in her distress, the less chance I will actually find the strength to act. This is it, I mean, have to do something.   
  
I look down at the floor and try to swallow, subconsciously knowing I will have to use my voice, though I haven't a clue what I'm actually going to say.   
  
"Boscorelli," though spoken quite quietly, the sound is deafening and causes me to flinch in surprise and anger. "You," she takes her gun away from Faith's head for a second, making a swirling gesture with the barrel to emphasize just how much she much despises me. The feeling is mutual.   
  
"You just had to go and make it all RIGHT." she smiles sadistically before shooting her dark eyes back in my direction. "You STUPID SON OF A BITCH!"   
  
She's laughing now, and my stomach turns at the sickening sound. Nothing about this scenario calls for laughter.   
  
"You were never smart, were you? I could have asked you to sign a piece of paper that said you murdered some innocent soul, and you know what? You would have done it."   
  
I'm not sure what she's trying to get at here. I'm pretty sure that everyone in this building already has an opinion on my degree of stupidity. I don't think much convincing was involved.   
  
She pauses and does everything but shoot daggers out of her eyes. Does she expect me to say something? Defend myself? I don't need her to tell me what I moron I am for trusting her. I already know that. I don't see why Faith has to suffer for my low IQ and lack of common sense.   
  
"So, this is how it has to be. I have to hold a gun to a New York City police officer, because YOU just couldn't follow the plan. You're... You're AN IDIOT, BOSCORELLI!"   
  
I hear her, but her voice is wavering. It takes me a second to realize that it's not her, it's me. I can't hold a steady feed of all the sensory stimulation that's being thrown in my direction. I blink, but the efforts are futile. Things are changing shades and shapes and I feel like I'm tilting sideways despite the fact that I can feel my feet firmly panted on the floor below me. Something's really not right here.   
  
I don't know if I'm going to last long enough to actually do anything. Cruz seems to have stopped her 'Bosco has no brain' speech for the time being. I don't know why, but I feel like I've missed something, though I'm almost positive I heard every word she said.   
  
I turn my eyes sideways slightly, and I can just barely make out Davis' grim face. He too looks sad, like he's attending a funeral. I wish he would do something. Can't anyone in this freakin' room DO SOMETHING? Because right now, I'm not so sure I can.   
  
I suddenly feel a choking sensation grip my throat. Oh shit, I can't breathe. There's a loud ringing in my ears and I feel my feet stumble forward to catch my faltering body. There's a hand on my shoulder and it manages to pull me backwards a step, preventing me from falling on my face. I still can't breathe, and my once wavering eye-sight has now completely failed me - a sea of white becomes my only visual.   
  
I know I haven't passed out, because I can feel someone's hand on my back. I don't know who it is, and I don't care to find out. The ringing is sporadically interrupted by the shrill yelling of Cruz. I think she's telling me to stand up. I figure she's either talking to me or Faith, and last I saw, Faith was standing, but then again, so was I.   
  
I don't remember falling, and I can no longer tell if I'm standing or lying down. I might as well be suspended in mid air because I'm pretty sure this is what it feels like to be floating. Someone's quietly talking in my ear, telling me to breathe. I know I'm breathing because first of all, I can hear myself gasping as I struggle to inhale, and second of all, I wouldn't be conscious right now if I hadn't been taking in oxygen for the last minute.   
  
There's a steady fluctuation in temperature. One second I'm boiling hot, the next I'm freezing cold. Though I'd rather be in the middle, I think that I would prefer one steady extreme over the drastic changes that cause my whole body to shudder in shock. What scares me even more is that I'm getting used to this. I never thought I would appreciate the fear that accompanies such a severe reaction, but it's scarier to think that it's normal. Is this what I've become? I thought I'd eat my gun - or at least have someone feed it to me - before I got to this point.   
  
At the very least, I think I've distracted Cruz's attention for the time being. Maybe if she thinks I'm dying, she'll feel she's accomplished her goal and let Faith go. Wow, apparently I've become naïve in my illness.   
  
Spots of color begin to replace the whiteness, and slowly I begin to make out rough shapes and figures. The ringing is still apparent, but I can hear the voices of those around me through the aggravating noise. One by one, my senses restore to a less than adequate level, but at least it's something.   
  
I can see again, and after blinking several times, I am surprised to see that I'm not lying down, as I had assumed. In fact, I haven't moved an inch. The only person that seems to have changed position is Davis, who's now at my side, holding onto my shoulder with a firm grasp.   
  
I look at him questioningly, and he seems to understand my confusion. What the hell just happened here? Did anyone even notice that I was completely separated from my body? Apparently not. Cruz still has that 'I hate the world' look on her face and Faith is exactly how I left her - terrified.   
  
Who was Cruz telling to stand up? Was I hallucinating? Maybe someone grabbed a gun. Stupid bastards, if there's one thing I learned, it's that Cruz sees EVERYTHING. I think she might just actually be Satan.  
  
"Look what you did!"  
  
Who? Me? What the hell is this crazy bitch talking about? Last I checked, she's the one that's holding a gun to the head of a fellow employee. I don't think I had very much to do with it.  
  
"Is this what you wanted all along? I know you don't give a rat's ass about yourself, Bosco, but there are other ways to get to people. You showed me your soft spot and I went in for the kill. That's what I mean, Boscorelli - you don't use your head."  
  
I might not use mine, but I'm pretty sure she's lost hers. She's completely out of control. I'M completely out of control. No one can do anything. What does she want? She hasn't even made any requests.  
  
"So, someone's going down today, and there's gonna be no more of this bull shit. I'm almost positive no one's going to miss their target this time," she says while pushing the gun forcefully into Faith's temple.   
  
"So who's it gonna be, Bosco? You?" she asks, tilting the gun in my direction, "Me? Or her?" she says the last part with a smile on her face. I think I'm gonna throw-up.   
  
"What do…" I stop to retry, as my voice did not cooperate, "What do you want, Cruz?" It comes out raspy, but comprehendible.  
  
"What do I want? I WANT SOMEONE TO PAY! You little DO GOODERS haven't put away HALF as much scum as I have, and now you've all DECIDED that I'm just TOO MUCH FOR YOU? Well THAT just doesn't CUT IT! So now, I've got to take matters into my own hands. Clearly," she says nodding at Faith, "I have."  
  
"So, why not me?" I know I'm swaying, but I have to remain focused - this is just too important.  
  
"YOU weren't the one in that room. YOU weren't telling me that I'm going to spend the rest of my life in prison. And more importantly, YOU weren't here."  
  
"But now I am."  
  
"Now you are," she agrees. I might actually be getting somewhere.  
  
"So why don't you just take me?"  
  
"Take you where, Bosco?"  
  
Is she kidding me? Is this turning into a word game? I don't want to play her messed up games anymore. I'm far too tired for this. Just take the gun away from Faith's head.  
  
I don't know how to respond to her last question. I subtly gaze around the room and see that there are only four or five other people present - all equally shell shocked. Swersky looks like he's going to cry. The other three are statues in the cross-fire of words. Davis is my physical support, making sure I remain standing.  
  
The physical and emotional distress combine to form the most uncomfortable of all pains. I can't imagine feeling any worse. This has got to be rock bottom.  
  
"Are you gonna do something?" I might as well ask her what I'm thinking. She's certainly not giving me any free answers.  
  
"Am I going to DO something? You're DAMN RIGHT I'm gonna DO something!"  
  
"Jesus, Cruz," my voice has dropped in it's increasing shakiness, "You're one crazy bitch."  
  
I regret the words before they even completely exit my mouth. I know that being called a bitch sets her off like a firecracker.   
  
She doesn't even bother responding with words, but instead she throws Faith to the ground. Davis quickly removes his hand from my shoulder and I stumble forward. Before I can regain my balance and return my gaze to Cruz, the deafening crack of repetitive gunfire cuts through the silent air.  
  
I can only hope her aim has left with her mind.  
  
TBC. 


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks so much for the reviews… It's because of them that this story has come so far, and I know that without you guys, I wouldn't have been motivated to do it. Thanks for your help - you're all a writer's best friend.   
  
This one's coming to a close, and if you're sad, check out my new one -A Fine Balance- that I have recently posted the first chapter for. I hope it can fill the void… if there happens to be one ;)   
  
Thanks again, and enjoy Chapter 18!  
  
~JOEY~  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-  
  
Chapter 18  
  
I'm unable to regain my balance to prevent hitting the ground. I can hear repetitive shots being fired, but I'll be damned if I can figure out how many exactly. I swear, every single person in this building is unloading their clip. Glass is shattering in every direction.   
  
I lethargically pull my head upright, getting a quick glance from my vulnerable position in the middle of the floor. No sooner, in my foggy state of mind, am I able to see Cruz's feet, do I feel a burning sensation pound through my left shoulder. The force sends me sprawling backwards. The cool floor temporarily relieves the searing pain coursing through my limbs with rapid force.  
  
A shadow blocks my only light and I momentarily separate my clenched eyelids to see Davis' face turn towards me. I briefly wonder if he's been shot, before returning my attention back to myself, attempting to ensure my own survival through this massive disaster.  
  
I can't tell if they're still shooting, or if I'm hearing the echo of the vociferous gunfire. The cracking blasts are almost drowned out by the sound of the blood rushing through my ears. I gasp anxiously, taking in my first breath since hitting the ground.   
  
"You get her. I'll get EMS!"  
  
I can't even tell who said that. I'm too busy trying desperately to fill my lungs with oxygen at least one more time. I'm almost positive it's silent now - all shooting having ceased - but it's hard to tell through the symphony of agony that's filling my ears and numbing my already faltering senses. The roaring viciously torments my pounding head and has me grasping for something - anything to grip onto in this state of pure anguish.  
  
I feel something brush my palm and I grab onto it with strength that I didn't know I had left in me.   
  
Someone's crying. Oh my God… no. No, this can't be… How could this be happening to me?   
  
I doubt anyone would be crying over me, which means that there has to be another reason. She has to be alright. I would die fifty times over if it meant that she wouldn't have a scratch on her. Please let her be okay. Please…  
  
"AAAGH!" Any air that happened to be left over in my burning lungs is thrust out when I feel a wicked pain vibrate through my shoulder as someone presses forcefully onto the wound. I can hear myself coughing, but I can't feel it. My body feels like it's being pricked with several thousand tiny needles, leaving me completely numb.  
  
The burning, coughing, and sickening roar of the rushing blood- it's a little too overwhelming. I'm flooded, and I'm not sure I can take this for much longer.  
  
"Bosco! Com'mon…"   
  
Just hearing my name spoken makes me feel slightly better. At least they're still talking 'to' me and not 'about' me - I must still be alive, though it's kind of hard to tell right now…  
  
"It's okay, Bos. Just breathe."  
  
I can't believe my ears. I actually refuse to allow myself to feel the relief that I would expect to feel by just hearing her voice. I can't take the disappointment if it's not true - if my mind was imagining something just because it's what I want to hear.  
  
Seconds turn into minutes and it would seem an eternity passes before help arrives. One would think that being just across the road, the medics could have gotten here a little quicker… apparently not.   
  
I feel her hands on my chest and her tears falling onto my face. Considering I can't feel very much right now, those two sensations comfort me enough that I am able to accept whatever is coming my way.   
  
I never thought I was a weak person, but I really have no idea if I have the strength to get through this. I doubt the gunshot is any more than a flesh wound, but I can't help but wonder if it will be the straw that breaks the camel's back. For Faith's sake, I sure as hell hope not. She's been through enough shit because of me - she doesn't need to feel the pain of losing her partner.  
  
One of the thousands of pinpricks felt across the entire area of my skin stands out. Are the medics here? I didn't hear them arrive. I can't hear or see anything and the feeling of complete loss of control and vulnerability makes my chest tighten even further until I feel like there's a giant band around my upper body, not allowing my lungs to expand without extraordinary effort.  
  
Someone is manhandling me, but I can't see who. I'm being told to do things, but I don't know what exactly. The result is panic, and it overcomes me with such fluidity - sending waves of heat through my entire body, emitting a cold sweat through every pore it passes.  
  
The only thing I can actually 'feel' is a hand on my forehead. It doesn't appear to be doing anything, but at the same time, it's doing everything. With that small token of comfort, my exhausted body checks out.  
  
******************************  
  
Waking up to this makes me feel so relieved yet so disgusted at the same time. I'm relieved because I'm alive - I'm disgusted because I'm in a hospital. I don't even need to open my eyes to know that. I can sense it, and just the thought of being trapped in such an environment again makes my stomach turn.  
  
I struggle with my brain to open my eyes. I know I'm drugged up pretty good because signals and reactions are delayed. With much effort, my eyelids crack open slightly.   
  
I shut them almost immediately - overwhelmed by the sickening feeling it induces. I try once more, this time the nausea isn't as potent, but my head pounds relentlessly. I attempt to wipe the haze from my eyes but my right arm is anchored down. I slowly -carefully- so as not to make any sudden movements that will upset my fragile body, shift my eyes to the right. The sight before my eyes makes me want to drop to my knees and thank God.   
  
Faith's head is resting across my forearm - her hair drapes all the way up to my elbow. I can't see her face, which is turned away from me, but I can tell she's exhausted, so I try not to make any sudden movements that could wake her.   
  
My left arm is in a sling. A dull ache radiates from the area, down my arm and through my hand. It's not extremely painful by any means - just uncomfortable. The drugs that are surely dancing through my veins take care of the agony that consumed me earlier.  
  
I close my eyes briefly, taking as deep a breath as my chest will allow without breaking into a coughing fit, before turning my attention back to my sleeping partner. She doesn't appear to be harmed. It's amazing. There are so many questions I would love answers to. Who opened fire? Was anyone else hurt?   
  
Who the hell shot me? Did the bitch go down?   
  
Turning away from Faith, I realize that answers will come later. Right now, I concede defeat and allow myself to drift back into a heavy sleep - reassured by the sleeping form of my unharmed partner at my bedside.  
  
TBC. Please drop me a review and make me smile! 


	19. Chapter 19

Just a couple more now. Slowly closing this one out. Even I'M sad! Oh well, I have big plans for my other one.   
  
Thanks so much for the reviews, I love you guys!  
  
~JOEY~  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
-The Hours After-   
  
Chapter 19   
  
For about an hour now, I've been in some semiconscious state, fighting the overpowering drugs and trying desperately to resurface. Though no physical activity is taking place, I have to engage in small intermissions in order to regain my strength and continue the struggle.   
  
Once or twice I've been so close, I can feel the haze thinning and my focus sharpening - but every time I'm left frustrated by a sudden blanket that pulls over me at the last second - pressing me further down than when I started.   
  
There's so much I feel I need to know - I can't explain what difference 'knowing' will make, but I feel the drive nonetheless. I didn't feel this way when I woke up fully the first time. I almost felt normal - though I think my description of normal has been altered a little in light of my recent misfortunes.   
  
The process constructs a consistent pattern of 'one step forward, two steps back'. I mentally thrash around in secluded frustration, praying that someone would slap me back to reality.   
  
Hands - they're everywhere. I think that over the past couple of weeks, I have been 'touched' by more people than my entire life beforehand. It's creepy and uncomfortable, and I feel like every single one of my personal boundaries has been unceremoniously exploited. I can tell some people are just doing they're job, but others are actually trying to talk to me. I appreciate their silent attempt at comfort, but I don't want it. Commiseration permeates from their hands through my skin, and I can just feel the piteous eyes burning holes through my personal barriers. Simply put: I hate it. I wish I'd be put under completely, or brought forth to consciousness... this state of delusional nothingness is killing me.   
  
Every muscle is tired and my head pounds from the tension. I can't do it anymore. I'm just going to have to wait until I rise to the surface naturally. I feel completely, utterly useless. I can only hope this isn't permanent...   
  
*******************************   
  
A wet coldness causes me to shudder on contact. The sensation spreads over the surface of my forehead and face, inducing an almost soothing contrast of hot and cold. My skin is burning and feels tight - similar to the sensation of a severe sunburn. The coldness spreads to my neck, and I flinch as the icy-wetness rudely extends over the surface of the sensitive area.   
  
"Officer Boscorelli?"   
  
The two words echo several times - as if bouncing of the walls of my skull and vibrating between my ears.   
  
My name is spoken again, but this time, I actually feel as though I'm in the same room as the speaker, as opposed to standing down a very narrow hallway, miles away.   
  
Sensation returns to my toes and fingertips. Slowly, the rest of my body follows suit, each and every sense systematically resurfaces until every body part has re-associated itself with the central nervous system.   
  
"Mmmm..." That's all I can muster at this moment.   
  
I thought that regaining my senses would be a relief, but instead, I find myself stifling waves of pain and nausea.   
  
As if someone has suddenly opened a curtain in a really dark room, my eyes pop open. I squint against the blinding fluorescent lights and blink several times to clear the fog.   
  
"You just couldn't stay away, could ya?" Ah shit, now I'm gonna get it. I fear this guy more than I fear Faith. I am able to catch a quick glimpse of his face before I squeeze my eyes shut again - desperately trying to fight the tension that's gripping my head like a vice.   
  
He looks surprisingly satisfied. I have no idea why. I don't think there's too much to celebrate right now. The wet compress is being removed, only to be replaced by a colder compliment. I automatically shudder again, the freezing water burns like fire.   
  
"Officer, I want you to try and stay awake with me for a few minutes, okay?" his voice is softer now, and I can't help but feel like he's also attempting to invade my personal boundaries with his newfound sympathy. I thought he was different... Despite the anger that his pity sends shooting through my veins, I trust this guy's opinion more than anyone else I have met in this hellhole, so I try to be as obedient as possible.   
  
The task doesn't prove to be easy. Against the complaints of my pounding head, I pry my eyes open again. The doc turns back to me and nods, "Good, now just try to stay that way for a second."   
  
No bullshit with this guy. He grabs a light from somewhere behind my head and nods at the nurse, who, in response, removes the cloth from my forehead. He leans in towards me and shines the bright light into my eyes. After examining for several seconds, he clicks off the light and places one hand in the center of my chest.   
  
"Do you have any pain here?"   
  
There's pain everywhere, doc. However, I shake my head 'no' when I assess that the pain is no worse in that area than any other part of my body. He moves his hand to my left and presses slightly. I sharply inhale.   
  
"Not so good there, huh?" I  
  
shake my head again, and allow my eyes to drift close.   
  
"No no no. I'm not done with you just yet. Just give me a couple more seconds of your time."   
  
When he sees my eyes slowly open again, he quickly grabs the stethoscope from around his neck and presses it decisively against my chest. "A little shaky, there?" a subtle smile plays on his face.   
  
I shift my gaze down in an attempt to comprehend what he's talking about. I see the stethoscope vibrating in unison with my body. I don't really see why that makes the doc smile, but I go along with it. Whatever turns your crank, doc.   
  
"I want you to breathe in SLOWLY. Don't try to inhale too much. I don't need you to push it, just take it nice and slow."   
  
I do my best to follow orders, but my chest gets tighter and tighter as the pressure increases. I begin to cough as a result, and the doc shakes his head while replacing the stethoscope around his neck, a blatant smile forming on his face.   
  
"You just don't listen, do you?" I guess I can't argue with that. Listening isn't really one of my strong points.   
  
Once I'm convinced my chest is done convulsing, I clear my throat, "You done?"   
  
He turns back towards me and raises his eyebrows, "Am I keeping you from something?"   
  
Why? Why do I always get the smart asses? I guess he notices I'm not in the mood because he nods sympathetically, "Go to sleep, Officer. God knows you need it."   
  
He mumbles some medical terms to the nurse, who replaces the cloth on my forehead before injecting a clear substance into my IV. I wonder how long it has been since I woke up to find Faith sleeping. I wonder where she is... where's my Ma?   
  
Eventually, I guess I'll get all my answers, and though I'm sick of waiting, sleep sounds damn good right now. Another cold wave passes through my entire body. The effects are minimized by the drugs the doc kindly administered. I can feel the warmth battling with the cold. I'm too tired to stay awake to find out who wins. I fall asleep to the sound of the young doc's voice, "No running away this time, Officer. I've hired guards."   
  
TBC. Review, review, review ;) Thanks, guys! 


	20. Chapter 20

****

****Author's Note: 

This is it, the end has come. When I started getting into this fic, I thought that it wouldn't get past 12 chapters... umm, yeah, that didn't happen! To everyone that ever read, and to anyone that ever read and reviewed, I send the sincerest of thanks - you all know who you are. 

And Sarah, my favorite critic, thanks so much for all your time and effort. I know that I take up a good portion of a lot of your days, and I want you to know that I appreciate every second you spent on me and my work. 

Now, I'm sure this final chapter will draw a lot of mixed feedback. I'm ready for it... SHOOT! LOL. This is where my heart told me to take this, and I'm sorry if it's not the fairy tale ending that some people were expecting, but I felt this was just 'right'. 

Thanks guys, I love you all :) 

~Joey~ 

Disclaimer: I own nothing.****

****

**-The Hours After-**

Chapter 20 

I can't say that I have ever enjoyed drugs as much in my whole life, as I have in the last 24 hours. I never even used to bother with them, assuming that there was really no amount of pain that could render me dependent on the synthesized liquids, but now I find myself anxiously willing forth the next dosage. I yearn for them simply because they take away 'everything'. I know it sounds cowardly, but not feeling at all right now sounds a lot more appealing than the contrary. 

I've been in and out of full consciousness throughout the early morning, but I have yet to encounter a familiar face besides little Doogie. He must hover around, just waiting for me to come to, so he can razz me a little more. I guess it's well deserved. He obviously has nothing better to do. 

I can sense my body waking again, but this time it feels different. I can't explain why, but I can 'feel' a lot more now than I could earlier. Maybe I'm actually feeling better - or maybe the drugs are wearing off. Either way, I can tell that I'm actually 'with it' now, as opposed to merely being conscious. 

"How ya doin', Officer?" 

It takes me a second to determine from where, exactly, the voice originates. My vision isn't quite clear enough yet and I feel like I have wads of cotton stuffed in my ears. I try moving my jaw around to stimulate blood flow or something - maybe that'll help. To my surprise, the fog dissipates and my eyes crisply focus on the Doc, who's casually sipping coffee and reading a magazine while lounging in one of the plastic chairs adjacent to my bed. 

What? Has he set up camp in my room now? He chuckles under his breath at my slack-jaw reaction. 

"You REALLY with me this time? You're eyes don't look quite as crossed, as they did earlier. I'm going to assume that's a good thing," he says while pushing his body off of the rigid, plastic chair. 

His expression changes as he approaches my bedside, his smirk being replaced by an empathetic softness, "How are you feeling really?" 

I clear my throat and attempt to find my voice, "Not too bad." It comes out hoarse and uneven, but sufficiently loud enough to get my point across. 

He begins what I now -not so affectionately- refer to as 'the process'. He systematically checks me over, slowly and deliberately. He leaves my shoulder to last, and before he undoes my sling, he stops, dipping his head slightly. Either he's having stomach cramps, or he has something really important to say. 

"Your fellow Officers were here earlier," he pauses and swallows. "At the time, you looked awake, but you weren't 'here'. It really scared them, which could be expected, I mean, you looked like death." 

Thanks, Doc. I can always count on ya. 

"However, your partner, the one that I treated a couple weeks ago for the collapsed lung," he moves his eyes up to meet mine. I wish I knew where he's going with this he's starting to scare me, "she stayed behind when all the others had left." he fiddles with his stethoscope, and for the first time since I met him, he looks unsure of himself. 

He swallows and nervous shifts his gaze around the room before settling back on me. 

"She wasn't saying much, but I could see that no matter what I said or did, she wasn't about to leave. So, I said she could stay. " 

I know Faith was here. I guess he doesn't know that I was awake for a brief stint during the night. 

"She" he pauses for a couple of seconds, almost as if he's trying to keep his emotions in tact. What's wrong with this guy? "She cried for what seemed like hours... kept saying something about how you piss her off beyond words, but at the same time, she can't handle losing you. It was the most confusing emotional exhibit I have ever witnessed." 

His seriousness is replaced by a small smile, "She said that if I let you leave this hospital again, against medical advice, she'd kill me herself. I gotta tell ya, Officer, I kind of believe her. She's a little scary." 

It takes all my willpower to stifle the laugh that's threatening to spill out of my chest. I know I'll be coughing into tomorrow if I succumb to the urge. 

The Doc notices my expression, and shakes his head a little while chuckling, "She's quite the character. But for some reason, she said she didn't want to be here when you woke up She wanted me to tell you that she's sorry" He lowers his voice and shakes her head while regaining his composure, "She wouldn't tell me why, but she was sobbing, and I couldn't quite understand her. She said that she just couldn't be around you anymore, but not to bother looking for her. She wanted you to know that it's not your fault - that she doesn't blame you for anything," he looks up at me again, but I turn away. 

I don't want -or need- this right now. I would rather not know at all. God, this hurts. This hurts more than anything more than any pain I might as well have died in that shoot-out I might as well have died in that hotel room, because as of right now, I can't think of a reason to live. 

My eyes are stinging, but I can't even tell if I'm crying - I'm emotionally and physically numb. 

"Officer, I don't know what to" he trails off. I just wish he would leave. There are no words to describe what I am feeling, and I just think it would be best if I were to be left alone. 

All I ever wanted was for her to come out of this whole mess okay - and she is. So why do I want to die? Why does every cell in my body feel like it's on fire? I hate myself for being this selfish. I should be happy. She won't ever have to be hurt by my idiocy ever again. She did the right thing she separated herself from the most dangerous threat in her life and now, I want to die 

The Doc tends to my shoulder, but I can barely feel his hands. I stare straight ahead, willing my heart to just stop beating. It's really no longer worth it. I've managed to not only ruin my own life, but also the lives of those close to me. I don't even deserve to be here I don't deserve to be alive. 

"Do you want me to call anyone? Do you want to talk to someone?" 

What? Like a shrink? I know I'm fucked up - I don't need some Ph.D. to tell me that. I just want to be alone. 

I subtly shake my head 'no'. The Doc takes the hint and nods sympathetically. 

"Okay," he says in a near whisper, "I'll leave you alone now. If and when you need anything, just press the call button. I'm off in a couple of hours, but Dr. White will be able to help you." 

I don't bother acknowledging him, but continue to stare blankly ahead - my vision blurred by the hot tears that have swelled from my stinging eyes. 

The Doctor slowly leaves the room, turning off the overhead light out of courtesy, so as not to attract any more attention to his emotionally unstable patient. As much as I hate the gesture - I appreciate it. It just makes more sense to be in the dark right now. 

I can feel my chest jump slightly as I quietly sob in the privacy of my dark room. I make no move to wipe away the tears that are now streaming down my neck. 

I've got to leave. Not just this hospital, but this city, and maybe even this State. I don't want to be around anything that resembles my life as it stands. If I have to live with myself, which I believe I do - killing myself has never really been an option - I don't want to be around anything that is associated with who I am today. 

I know I'm sick, and I know that I should stay here, but I would rather take the chance and die, than remain in a place that has constant reminders of what I threw away. 

It's time to settle. I have to accept what I am and who I've become. I never thought it was good enough to just be a beat cop, and look where that got me. I've lost the one person that made me who I am. I lie in this hospital bed, a shell of my former self, and it would break my mother's heart to see me like this It would be better if I just disappeared. No one would be the wiser - no one would ever have to deal with the pain that I inflict on those I care about. I can't do it anymore, and I can't watch it happen. I have to leave. It's my only chance to become someone else. 

I move slowly, but purposely, knowing this is for the best. I allow myself all the time required to shakily place my clothes on my body. 

As I awkwardly tie my last shoelace with one hand, a golden reflection catches my eye. I slowly glance over to the table beside my bed to see my small 55 pin that I always keep in my jacket pocket. I place my hand over it and manipulate it between my fingers. The cold brass contrasts my hot skin. I look at it for a second, knowing that I'll never proudly display the insignia on my collar again. I place the pin in my pocket as I push myself off the bed. I'm unsteady on my feet, but steady in my mind. I know this is my only option - it's the only right thing I could do. 

I don't bother signing out. I don't want any records of when I left. I wait for an elevator with my hands in my jacket pockets, supporting the weight of my upper body. 

As the doors to the elevator slide open, I hear a low voice emerge directly behind me, "You trying to get me killed?" 

I walk into the elevator before turning around to face him, "Just be careful, Doc. She means business." 

He doesn't argue with me. He can tell by my face that there's nothing to debate. I know what I have to do, and I don't care enough about myself to do anything other than this. 

He sighs and nods before lifting his gaze to look straight into my eyes. "You alright?" 

"Things will never be alright," I answer as the elevator doors slide shut. 

I shuffle out the automatic doors of the ER, into the cool, afternoon air. I just walk straight. There's no method or plan. I just want to get as far away from everything as possible. A cab stops in front of me and I climb into the back without hesitation. 

"Where to?" the cabbie asks. 

"Airport," I answer, the firmness in my voice contradicts my physical state in every possible aspect. 

I stare at the familiar streets and landmarks as we speed ahead to the airport. I'm doing everyone a favor - and though they might not realize it right away, it will become apparent that this was no accident. I don't think I was meant to make it this far anyway. I knew it that night. I wanted to die after the events in that hotel room. I knew then what I know now. 

I stayed alive for her. Now, she's gone from my life forever. As I watch the city I've lived in my whole life, pass before my eyes, I realize she's the only reason I'm here she's the only reason I made it through the hours after. 

**~THE END**~ 

Thanks for sticking with me! (and Bosco) ;) 


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